


Premiere Night With a Large Popcorn and a Side of Eye-Rolling

by miraculouskittynoir (fangirl0430)



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Retail, Alya ships it, F/M, THERE WASN'T SUPPOSED TO BE THIS MUCH FLUFF BUT THERE IS, about college age, also adrien and mari are adorable, also nino gives marinette hell, also this story is based on a true story that happened to me when i worked at a theater, and he hates stocking the candy (who doesn't???), but daaaaaamn scary, but these losers are cute, chloe is surprisingly civil, it's all a mess really, mari's also a bit paranoid, my nerds working at a movie theater..., people suck, so much fluff though, they're a bit older...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-09-09 17:07:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8900806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl0430/pseuds/miraculouskittynoir
Summary: Marinette works the concession stand at a movie theater. Adrien is her manager.One rude customer and a large popcorn later, maybe these two can hit it off...*based on true stories that happened to yours truly*





	1. Chapter 1

“This is absolutely ridiculous! I have been waiting in line for over ten minutes!” The man in front of her register is fuming, though Marinette has no idea why. On a premiere night, waiting in the concession line for ten minutes isn’t too bad of a wait.

“I’m sorry, sir. We are extremely busy tonight, and our system went down,” Marinette says calmly. “I assure you, we are working as fast as we can.” The popcorn machine starts to beep behind her, so Marinette whips around to dump the popcorn quickly before it burns. No need to bring the wrath of Chloe, one of her managers, down on her for making the whole theater atrium smell of burnt popcorn. She’s only been here a few weeks, and she has already learned to stay on Chloe’s good side whenever possible. She turns back to the customer.

“This simply will not do,” he says, crossing his arms, and Marinette knows exactly what is coming. “I already had to send my wife and kids into the theater because we got here late,” _and yet you’re complaining to me about having to wait in line on a **premiere night**_ , “and I know I already missed the beginning of the movie,” _then stop complaining and tell me what you freaking want_ , “and I am very displeased with this theater’s service,” _just keep smiling Mari… Stop imagining 100 different ways to kill him… Stop that…_ “So I would like to speak with a manager instead of complaining at you.”

“Understood sir,” she nods her head. “I’ll call her over right now.” She presses the button on her radio earpiece and speaks into the small microphone, “Alya. I have a customer in concession that would like to speak with you.”

A couple of the ushers make “ooo-ing” sounds into the radio before Alya responds.

“I’m gonna be a minute here,” her voice crackles over the radio. “Dealing with a ticket refund up at guest services.” Marinette glances over at the guest services desk, and sure enough, Alya also has an annoyed customer in front of her, a woman with her arms crossed and a tapping foot. Alya glances up and meets Marinette’s eye across the atrium, and yeah, she looks in about the same state as Marinette is in at this point.

“My manager is going to be few minutes,” Marinette tells her customer, who only grimaces. “In the meantime, I could get your order started…”

“No,” he interrupts her. “I want to speak to a manager. Now.”

Marinette’s fingers grip the register for a second, and she is very thankful that she has the “customer smile” down-pat, even though her face is starting to hurt. She’s been working since nine in the morning, and she _really_ doesn’t want to have to be dealing with this shit right now. Hell, it’s been non-stop for the last two and a half hours, and the ever-growing line shows no intent of stopping.

“Is there an available manager that can come back here and help this _guest_?” Marinette says calmly into the radio, though just flatly enough to convey exactly what kind of customer this is.

“I’m on my way,” she hears through the radio. _Adrien. Great._ Marinette’s cheeks flush a little. Of course, it _had_ to be the cute manager that she’s _totally_ crushing on.

“Thank you,” she responds into the comm. “He’ll be here in a moment,” she tells the customer.

“Good,” he nods his head. “This is the absolute worst service I have ever had here. I can’t _believe_ how long I had to wait in that line. It took you five minutes to ring up that man ahead of me, and all he had was a water bottle. And the fact that I had to send my family in… Absolutely ridiculous…” _why don’t you just tell me your order so I don’t have to listen to you complaining please please please_. The door into the concession area slams closed, and she looks over to see Adrien speed-walking her way. Marinette turns away from the customer enough that he won’t see the very subtle eye-roll she does, a certain look that anyone in retail understands immediately. Adrien seems to get it, because his eyebrow raises slightly in acknowledgement before stepping up behind her.

“Hello, sir. My name is Adrien. What can I do for you?” Adrien says, lightly placing his hand on Marinette’s shoulder, a friendly gesture that makes Marinette’s cheeks flush.

“Finally!” the customer exclaims. “I just wanted to tell you about how disappointed I am with my experience here. But meanwhile,” he glances at Marinette, “I would like a large popcorn.” It takes Marinette a moment to process the customer’s request ( _his hand is on my shoulder his hand is on my shoulder_ ) before she jumps back to attention and nods her head, whipping around to the popcorn machine and grabbing a flattened, large popcorn bag out of the designated cubby-hole. Nino is just finishing scooping some popcorn into a small bag, and he glances at her customer before raising an eyebrow at her. She just rolls her eyes, that same “retail understanding” gesture that makes him smirk as he heads back to his register.

She faintly listens to her customer’s complaining as she pops the bag open and fills it, making sure to put in as little popcorn as is acceptable. Normally, she over-fills the bag, especially for nice customers. But this man, she will not go out of her way for. The whole time, he’s telling Adrien exactly what he told Marinette: that he had to wait in line for _ten whole minutes_ ( _oh boohoo there are people that will wait in that line for twenty minutes because of you asshole_ ) and that this slow of service is unacceptable when he has to pay this much ( _our tickets are the cheapest in town jerk you don’t have to buy popcorn_ ) and that he is going to give our theater a bad review ( _it’s a **premiere night** what do you expect???_ ). Marinette sighs, plastering back on the smile before turning back to the customer, popcorn in hand. She carefully sets it on the counter.

“Well sir, I’m sorry that you are having such an unenjoyable experience at our theater,” Adrien says, and Marinette notices he looks about as strained as she does. This customer is completely oblivious, fiddling with his wallet and taking his credit card out. “I’m afraid there is not much we can do, however. As you can see, we are extremely busy at the moment, and corporate is updating our rewards program, so the system is going in and out. I am sorry for your displeasure, though.” The customer hands Marinette his card, and she reaches in front of Adrien a bit to enter the large popcorn into her register.

“Well,” the customer says innocently, his whole demeanor shifting. “I might be _less_ likely to leave a bad review if you… comp my popcorn.”

Marinette barely stops her jaw from dropping. This guy can’t be serious. He held up her line, complained about something that _couldn’t be helped_ , and then has the _audacity_ to ask for his stupid popcorn to be _free_. She glances up at Adrien, and he’s having the same reaction; she can tell. You don’t have to work in retail for long to understand the subtle facial expressions that any worker has, the ones that outsiders never understand. It’s small things, like the quirk of an eyebrow or a small twitch or that forced, fake smile that simply looks “polite” to customers.

Marinette is still holding the man’s credit card, watching Adrien and waiting to see what he’s going to do. He could comp this man’s popcorn; it’s not out of his authority. He’s a manager, so he can do it. It’s just a couple of extra key-strokes.

But then his head quirks just slightly to the side, and one corner of his lips quirks ever-so-slightly higher, the smile so fake Marinette almost has to laugh.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not allowed to do that.” He looks down at Marinette, stepping slightly away from the register to give her access, and she swipes the man’s card, completing the transaction. She hands him his card back, and the man humphs at her, snatching his card and his popcorn and stomping away before she can offer him the receipt, mumbling about bad reviews and horrible service all the way across the atrium. “Have an _amazing_ day,” Adrien calls after him, the phrase drilled into employees’ heads and used more ironically than seriously anymore.

Marinette snorts, and she looks up to see Adrien rolling his eyes as the man leaves. He pats her back lightly, reassuringly, before turning and heading back out of concession to do whatever-it-is that managers do. She shakes her head and motions at the queue line.

“I can help the next guest over here!”

* * *

Concession has closed, and she’s wiping down the front counters when she sees Adrien heading in her direction from the customer service desk. Her cheeks heat up a bit, and she wipes the counter a bit more rigorously.

“That guy from earlier was an asshole,” he says, leaning forward onto the counter she’s wiping down and looking at her, a small, ironic smile on his lips. She stops wiping the counter and puts the rag down, smiling.

“Yeah, he was,” she agrees.

“No way in hell I was gonna give him a free popcorn,” Adrien shakes his head, strands of his blond hair poking out from under his theater cap waving across his forehead. “Ridiculous.”

“I completely agree,” she says, chuckling. “I was seriously hoping you wouldn’t give it to him. I almost burst out laughing when you pretended like you couldn’t.”

“Glad I could make you _almost_ laugh,” he smiles at her, and yeah, he’s gorgeous, especially when he smiles at her like that. She glances down, feeling her cheeks get even warmer, her fingers fidgeting in front of her. She needs to get this crush under control, especially considering this is just a summer job, and she’s going to be heading back to college in a month or two...

“I was gonna go sit in on one of the ‘Miraculous’ showings,” he says, and she looks back up to meet his eyes. He points behind him. “You know, since I’m stuck here until one in the morning anyways since I’m closing manager. You wanna…” his cheeks flush, and he looks down at the counter, hands hidden behind his back. Marinette is thrown for a loop, wondering if he could possibly… No, there’s no way he could possibly…

“I—” she stammers. She wants to say yes, oh God she wants to say yes. He’s basically inviting her to see a movie with him! She wants to _scream_ yes. “I can’t. S-Sorry.” She motions at the concession area behind her, indicating that she still has some work to do. “I think Nino would kill me if I left him alone to stock candy and clean the popcorn poppers.

“Right, right,” Adrien shakes his head. “I completely spaced. You’re right.” He rubs the back of his neck, not looking at her, his cheeks getting even redder. She giggles.

“I mean, I’d be willing to come watch a movie instead assuming I get to log the time as work hours,” she jokes, and he laughs, finally meeting her eyes again. _So green…_

“I think Chloe would have my head if she found out,” he chuckles.

“Nah,” Marinette shakes her head. “She likes you too much. Plus, she knows better than to kill her best manager.”

“I’m telling Alya she’s not your favorite!” Nino yells from the back room.

“Shut up, Nino!” she yells back. Adrien laughs.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he chuckles, stepping away from the counter. “You probably wanna finish up so you can get home.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, though she doesn’t want him to go. “But I’ll take a rain-check on that movie.” He pauses, his whole face lighting up. It’s adorable, she’s not going to lie.

“You’re not working tomorrow, right?” he asks, grinning so wide his face must be about to split into two. “No, you’re not. I made the schedule. Of course you’re not scheduled tomorrow. I know that. Nathaniel and Ivan are on concession tomorrow, not you. Duh.” He’s rambling, and it makes her heart flutter in her chest.

“Tomorrow sounds great,” she says. “I’ll meet you here, then? For the six o’clock showing?”

“Yeah, sure. Sounds great.” He smiles, almost in relief. “I’ll pay for the movie, you pay for dinner.”

“We get into the movies free, you goof!” she laughs.

“Which is exactly why I’ll pay for it!”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I try,” he smirks.

“Marinette!” Nino hollers from the back. “Stop flirting with the manager, get your ass back here, and help me stock this candy! You know I hate doing this crap!”

“Better watch out, Nino,” Adrien calls back. “I could still fire you!”

“As if,” Nino yells. “Who else are you planning on sending in to clean the bathrooms?”

Adrien chuckles, shaking his heading and turning to walk through the atrium, towards one of the theaters. He looks over his shoulder at Marinette, still smiling.

“Tomorrow at six, then?” he asks.

“Tomorrow at six,” she confirms.

“I’ll see you then.” He turns back, heading into the theater.

She manages to hold in her scream of excitement until she’s in her car, halfway home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes, this actually happened to me... Well, everything that happened with the customer... Not any of the cute, romantic fluff at the end... That was just tacked onto the end because... reasons...
> 
> But yeah, I once had a customer complain my ear off over nothing (the EXACT reasons I said in the story), and I had to call my manager over, and he threatened to leave a bad review if she didn't comp his popcorn (but he said it EXACTLY how the person in the story said it... Really "innocently", when he was really just being an asshole). My manager and I had shared "the look", and she pretended she couldn't comp his popcorn. It was hilarious. She actually talked to me about it the next day, telling me exactly what Adrien told Marinette ("That guy was an asshole... No way in hell was I gonna comp his popcorn..."). Managers can be cool sometimes... Especially when they're the ones you get along with!
> 
> Also, I am Nino... Stocking candy SUCKS!
> 
> Anyways, was reading through AU ideas and saw one about working retail and dealing with annoying customers, and it immediately made me think of when this happened to me...
> 
> I hope you enjoyed my story! As always, I let me know what you think!
> 
> PS: Got any retail stories of your own to share? Leave them in the comments!


	2. Chapter 2

“The book was better.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to say when you walk out of a movie? The book was better?”

“But… This movie wasn’t based on a book—”

“So?”

“So? Adrien, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“You know what really doesn’t make any sense? The fact that they couldn’t recognize one another without their masks. I mean, they go to the same school, are in the same class, and see each other almost every day, yet masks that cover their cheekbones stop them from recognizing one another?”

“I sorta thought that too,” Marinette agrees, stepping through the door that Adrien holds open for her. “But, it might have something to do with magic. Maybe it conceals their identities in the viewer’s eye. I mean, even Ladybug’s own parents didn’t recognize her. There must be more to it than masks.”

“Magic is such a cop-out, though,” he says. “How would that even work anyways? Like, a glamour of some sort?”

“Adrien, she has a magic, unbreakable yo-yo with an infinitely long string, and he has a staff than can grow to any size. I’m pretty sure a simple glamour wouldn’t be too far out of the league of possibilities.” She shrugs. “Also, it’s a movie whose main audience is children. Don’t think about it too hard.”

“I’m just saying, the studio knows this show has a huge fan base within our age bracket, so I have no idea why they wouldn’t—”

“Well well, what do we have here?”

They both freeze in place in the middle of the atrium, looking a little too much like kids caught with their fingers in the cookie jar. Marinette glances at Adrien and sees him grimace before turning around with a friendly smile on his face. Marinette turns with him, coming face-to-face with the general manager, Chloe.

“Hey Clo,” Adrien says, all smiles. “What’s up?” His shoulders are a little too tense. Marinette doesn’t know why he’s nervous; everyone knows he’s Chloe’s favorite. If anything, Marinette should be the nervous one, considering how often she runs into work late.

“The usual,” Chloe shrugs, pulling the ponytail out of her blond hair, fixing it with her fingers, and then carefully tying it back up. “Dealing with customers complaining about bullshit, putting in orders, figuring out all the corporate nonsense, you know how it is.” She smiles, but it’s all teeth, and Marinette is vaguely reminded of a shark that just saw its prey. “What I’m _really_ interested in is what you two are doing.”

“Well, I don’t think it would be too far-fetched to assume that we saw a movie,” Adrien says, still smiling, still tense.

“Together?” she raises an eyebrow, glancing momentarily at Marinette, then back at him. Marinette can feel her cheeks heating up at the implication, wondering what he’ll—

“I’m pretty sure a date implies doing an activity _together_ , wouldn’t you?” he asks, raising an eyebrow back. Marinette is sure that, if it was possible, her face got even redder.

“Yes, yes it would,” Chloe smirks. “But if that’s the case, I would like to remind you that it is against company policy for film crew to engage in any kind of relationship with a manager.” _What?_

“Oh, come _on_ , Clo,” he groans. “Just because you and I didn’t work out—”

“So if you would like to keep your job,” she continues, as if Adrien never spoke, but now she’s looking at Marinette, addressing _her_ , “I suggest you re-evaluate your decisions before _I_ am forced to.”

Marinette is gaping, not sure how to respond. _Did Chloe just threaten her job for going out with Adrien?_ She doesn’t immediately remember reading about that policy in the employee manual, but she guesses she _did_ just skim it when she got the job. And even if she did read it carefully, she doesn’t think she would have particularly deemed it noteworthy, considering she never would have considered this a possibility.

Chloe is still smiling as she pivots and starts to walk away, and Marinette watches as Adrien visibly deflates.

“You know,” Marinette calls after Chloe, who had only managed to get a few steps away. “I’m sure corporate wouldn’t appreciate a _general manager_ in a relationship with a lower employee either.” Marinette doesn’t know where this sudden bravery is coming from, but Chloe turns back around, and if her raised eyebrow is any indicator, she has her attention.

“Come again?” she says, still smiling, her head tipping slightly to the side. But she doesn’t seem shark-like anymore. She almost looks curious.

“I-I was just wondering whether corporate would need to know about you and Nate,” Marinette says. _Oh God is she black-mailing her general manager? Oh God she’s going to lose her job. She’s so screwed. This will look_ horrible _on her resume. What is she going to do? She needs this job! She should have just kept her mouth shut! God damn-it what were you thinking? Idiot, idiot, idio—_

But Chloe doesn’t look mad.

She almost looks…

Happy?

“Touché,” she says, smiling genuinely. “Marinette, was it?”

“Y-Yes ma’am,” Marinette nods. Chloe gives her a once-over, sizing her up, and Marinette has to remind herself to breathe. But then Chloe is nodding her head, walking back over and patting Adrien on the shoulder.

“She’s a keeper, Agreste,” she says. “Don’t screw it up.” Adrien’s eyes go wide, but Chloe is already turning back to Marinette. “You’ve got balls. I appreciate that. This guy deserves someone who cares as much as he does, the big softie that he is.” Chloe nudges Adrien, but he’s still in shock, and Marinette doesn’t know if she’s doing much better. “Just know, if you speak to me like that again, I will fire you faster than you can blink. And, if you hurt him, or break his heart, I will end you.” And Chloe smiles, which is almost terrifying, and Marinette believes every word that she says. “Got it?”

Marinette nods her head vigorously, not even trusting herself to speak, knowing word-vomit would just come out. So she nods. Maybe for a bit too long and with a bit too much enthusiasm, but she’s nodding, and Chloe seems to take that as confirmation.

“Good,” Chloe returns the nod, looking between the two of them. “I’ll see you both here tomorrow morning for your shifts.” And then she turns and walks away, almost strutting.

Marinette and Adrien are frozen, staring after her long after she went into the back office, still just trying to process what exactly just happened.

“Well,” Adrien says hesitantly, “I did _not_ see that coming.”

“Neither did I,” Marinette says. They’re both still staring after Chloe, staring at a door more or less. She still can’t believe she threatened to blackmail the general manager. And did Chloe…

“Did we just get a blessing from my ex?” he asks, sounding just as confused as Marinette feels.

“Yep,” Alya says, coming up behind them and slinging her arms on their shoulders. Adrien jumps a mile, and Marinette barely holds in a yelp of surprise. “See, this is the reason Nino and I don’t go on dates here.”

“Were you eavesdropping?” Marinette exclaims, a blush creeping back up to her cheeks.

“You bet your ass I was!” Alya smirks. “I am fully invested in this relationship! I was shipping you two before either of you built up the nerve to speak to the other. All that pining, it was bound to happen eventually.”

“Alya!” Marinette almost screams, mortified. But Alya just laughs.

“Just because you two are blind doesn’t mean the rest of us are!” she says. “Which reminds me, Nino owes me five bucks…”

“We’re going now!” Marinette grabs Adrien by the hand ( _don’t think about it too much Mari. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out._ ) and drags him away, getting them as far from Alya as she can before her friend can embarrass her ever more.

She swears Alya’s laugh follows them all the way out the theater doors.

* * *

 

One Chipotle dinner and many laughs later, they’re leaning against his car in the mall parking lot, chatting. Marinette’s car is the next aisle over, but she’s not quite ready to leave yet, enjoying his company too much to want the night to end. She can’t remember the last time she had this much fun with someone.

“I had a good time tonight,” Adrien says, echoing her thoughts perfectly.

“Me too,” she agrees, looking down at her shoes, feeling the slight heat in her cheeks.

“I’d really like to do it again sometime,” he says. She looks up to meet his eyes, and his smile takes her breath away.

“I’d like that too,” she says. She notices how green his eyes are, the color so vivid and lively that she knows her poor professors will see nothing but that color in her designs for the next few months. It’s beautiful yet playful, reminiscent of both a cat’s eye reflecting moonlight in the dark of night and, at the same time, an evergreen forest in midst of a warm summer. She forces herself to look away before she gets too lost in them.

“So, I’ll… um… text you,” he says, and she watches his feet shuffle a bit, shoes scuffing on the asphalt.

“Okay,” she says. And, yep, her heart sinks just like she had expected. She knows they should probably call it a night, especially considering they both have work in the morning. But still…

He reaches out and takes her hand, and she watches, curious, as he bends down, eyes on her the entire time, and presses a soft kiss to the back of her hand, lips just barely ghosting across her skin.

_The way he’s looking up through his lashes should be a sin._

Maybe it’s that thought, or maybe it’s a little bit of that confidence leftover from their encounter with Chloe. It might even be her awareness, her fear, of how temporary this might be, since she’s going back to school in the fall, since she’ll have to leave. But, either way, when he stands back upright, smiling at her, she smirks instead, taking a bold step forward and grabbing the front of his shirt, pulling him down.

“Damn tease,” she murmurs before crashing their lips together in a bruising kiss, electricity shooting down her spine when he immediately responds in kind, opening up to her, both of them exploring the other. His hands find their way to her hips, pulling her against him, his fingers spread across her back as his lips fight hers for control. The kiss is all lips and teeth and tongue and it’s like nothing she’s ever felt before, his taste, his smell, his touch completely consuming her, as if it was possible to lose herself in everything that is _Adrien_. It’s sloppy, not well-practiced, and yet every moment feels like heaven, making her head spin and her knees weak and, suddenly, _this_ is the moment she doesn’t want to end.

He pulls away, putting no more than an inch between them, both of their breaths ragged. She can feel him there, feel exactly how close he is without having to even open her eyes, feel his breath tickling her lips, feel that electricity between them. It’s tempting, that short distance, and he must feel the same. He leans in between breaths, his lips soft against hers in an almost-chaste kiss, the shock of electricity more of a buzz now, making her sigh and melt into him. The kiss is gentle, a stark contrast to just moments ago, and when he pulls away, he presses his forehead to hers, his fingers flexing against her back.

They stay like that for a moment, just breathing each other in. Marinette’s heart is hammering in her chest, and she’s sure he must feel it. But even then, she can’t stop herself from smiling, her lips still tingling. She feels his breath stutter against her skin, as if he had laughed.

“That was…” he breathes. He doesn’t even have to finish the thought, Marinette knowing exactly what he means.

“Yeah,” she agrees, her nose brushing against his.

“I’d like to do it again sometime,” he says, and she snorts.

“Me too,” she says, kissing him one more, quick time before pulling away, finally letting go of his shirt. It’s wrinkled where she had been holding it, so she gently pulls at the fabric a bit to straighten it out.

She knows her cheeks are flushed, but when she looks up at Adrien, his are too, his lips red and a little swollen, his pupils dilated. Marinette bites her lip to stop herself from going in for round two (or four?). He’s smiling, a stupid, dopey thing that sends butterflies fluttering around her stomach, and she can’t help but mirror it.

“I’m just gonna…” she says, motioning behind her towards her car. “You know. Before I do something stupid.” He laughs, glancing down at the ground and then back at her, his eyes sparkling.

“See you tomorrow, my Lady,” he says, still smiling.

“See you tomorrow,” she says, smiling back before turning and heading towards her car, only glancing back once.

Okay, _maybe_ twice.

_Can you really blame her?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had not initially intended on writing this chapter, but after the warm reception of the first one, I went ahead and wrote you guys this second chapter. But this is it! No more!
> 
> So yeah, Adrien and Marinette's first date had some weird moments (a supportive Chloe? Who would've thought??? She grew up a bit and just wants Adrien to be happy...). It all worked out in the end (*wink wink*).
> 
> While the first chapter was partly based on a real-life story that happened to me when I worked at a theater, this chapter is COMPLETELY fictional. My love-life is DEFINITELY not that interesting...
> 
> Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed this story. I'm currently thinking through some ideas for another short story, so if you're interested in seeing more of my content, hit that little subscribe button on my profile page. If not, no hard feelings. Just hoping/glad you enjoyed the story! Also, if you have a Tumblr, come check out my Miraculous sideblog at the same url as my Pseud ("miraculouskittynoir.tumblr.com")! I'm always up for talking about this ridiculous show that I love, so just shoot me an ask/message!
> 
> Okay, that's all the self-promotion I've got! Love you guys! Kisses! Au revoir! Bye bye little butterflies! See you next time!
> 
> (Okay now I'm done)
> 
> EDIT: Alright, I lied... Here comes another chapter (or 2... or 3...)... I may or may not have remembered a few more stories from my time at the theater, and I wanted to write about them... So yeah... Hehe... Stay tuned...


	3. Chapter 3

Marinette reaches into her pocket and pulls out the folded time sheet and her pen. She scribbles out the next theater down on the list, the one she just finished cleaning. It was one of the smaller theaters with a less-known movie, so it only took her a minute to glance up the aisles and make sure there was nothing on the ground or seats. It was a relief compared to the last theater, where there was a tub of popcorn on every aisle, spills on every other aisle, and popcorn on the ground and seats as if someone had gotten into a popcorn fight. That theater had taken her twenty-five minutes to clean and had put her three theaters behind schedule.

_People need to learn to clean up after themselves and stop thinking they’re so entitled._

She checks the next theater number, noting that it’s across the atrium on the other side of the complex. She groans, shoving the pen and paper back into her pocket and speed-walking out of the theater, dumping the contents of her dustpan into the trash as she went by.

She’s only a few hours into her shift and she’s already exhausted. She hates when she’s the only usher. This job would be so much easier if people would clean up after themselves. She understands accidents. Spills happen, and sometimes eating popcorn can be messy; she understands. But leaving your drinks and trash on and under the seats for people like her to pick up is just flat-out _rude_. She’s already got enough to deal with, what with Chloe already egging her to check the bathrooms every twenty minutes at minimum (four bathrooms every twenty minutes is not possible while also juggling theaters, so Chloe will take what she can get), and with concessions occasionally radioing her to come clean up a spill at their counters. She _hates_ when she’s the only usher.

Damn Nino for calling out sick.

She remembers that story Adrien told her about over dinner about a month ago. He’d said that, when he used to clean theaters, there was this couple that walked out once. He’d been holding the door, smiling, and wishing people a nice rest of their day, like he was supposed to. The man, maybe in his fifties, had turned to Adrien, a comical smirk on his face as he had assured him that he had “left him some job security back there”. Adrien had told her that it took every ounce of his self-control to keep smiling and wish the man an “amazing” night before having to go in there and dump the man’s popcorn bag for him. Marinette wishes she could find the story unbelievable, but unfortunately, people are assholes and that’s not anything new.

_It’s not even like the trashcans are out of their way or anything. You literally have to pass at least three trashcans before leaving the theater complex. They couldn’t make it any easier if they_ tried _. And yet, people still insist on being lazy, entitled—_

“Smile,” a voice, completely unfamiliar, snaps her out of her thoughts. She stops, looking to her right to find a man, maybe in his mid- to late-twenties, sitting on the bench looking at her.

“Pardon?” she asks, not sure if she heard him right.

“I said you should smile,” he repeats, smirking. “Pretty girl like you shouldn’t look so sad.”

“Oh,” she says, feeling mildly uncomfortable. Blame it on the fact that she had just finished watching Jessica Jones on Netflix, Kilgrave’s obsession with telling his victim’s to “smile” still on her mind. She nods at the man, forcing a small smile. “Nothing to worry about sir. Just a long day. Have a nice night.”

She rushes off before he can respond, heading for the next theater.

Maybe she’s just being paranoid, not quite used to random male attention like that. The guy had seemed pleasant enough, hadn’t seemed malicious in any way. But god, the whole thing had just creeped her out a little. She didn’t know this guy, had never met him before. The whole thing just felt weird and awkward.

She shakes her head, walking into the empty theater. She’s over-reacting and she knows it. It was a small, innocent thing. He was just trying to make her smile. He was just being nice. And she knows the compliment’s association to Jessica Jones is really what’s freaking her out more than anything. She’s being paranoid.

Damn Adrien for suggesting they watch it.

_Hey. You just wanted to cuddle up with him on the couch. Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it._

She blushes slightly at the memory, remembering it _very_ clearly. That had been such a nice night.

This theater is clean.

She reaches in her pocket and scratches this theater off the list, memorizing the next few theaters that all happen to be on this side of the complex. All smaller theaters too, so she should be able to catch back up before one of the big theaters in the atrium lets out.

She gets through the next three theaters relatively quickly, spending only ten minutes on the messiest theater. For whatever reason, horror movies always seem to be some of the messiest, with popcorn on the floor and around the seats. The best she can assume is that people miss their mouths when there’s a jump scare and end up with half of their popcorn on the floor. The image makes her smirk.

She plops down on a seat for a moment, pulling out her list to scratch out the three theaters and checking when the next one will release. It’s one of the big theaters, meaning Alya will probably have to come help her clean it since it would take her forty minutes to do on her own.

“ _Theater fourteen is on break,_ ” Alya says through the radio, right on time.

“On my way,” she replies through the microphone on her earpiece cord. She stands back up, legs arguing a bit with the effort. It’s been a while since she has ushered; getting to stand behind the concession stand instead of having to walk around non-stop has spoiled her. She’ll definitely be sore by the end of today.

Maybe she can convince Adrien to give her a foot massage tonight.

The thought makes her smirk as she heads out of the theater and towards the atrium, broom and dustpan in hand. She cleans a little as she goes, sweeping up the occasional stray piece of popcorn or straw wrapper. She’s got a good couple of minutes before she can head in to clean the theater, knowing that the bigger theaters always take a few minutes after the initial break for everyone to filter out. She slowly heads there, listening through the radio to someone up at concession requesting more pennies sometime in the next ten minutes, wondering if she should run through the bathrooms quickly to change out toilet paper.

She rounds the corner into the atrium hallway and notices two things. First, the hallway is crowded with people heading two and from the bathrooms, meaning theater fourteen emptied a bit faster than she had anticipated. Running through the bathrooms now would be fruitless, so she might as well wait until it was less busy. The second thing she notices is the guy sitting on the bench.

It’s the same guy.

He hasn’t moved.

He’s still just sitting there, looking around.

It’s been almost thirty minutes!

_Relax, Marinette. He’s probably just waiting for someone._

She realizes then that her grip on the broom had tightened slightly, and that she had frozen right in the middle of the hallway, like a deer in headlights.

_Calm down. There is nothing to worry about._

She starts walking again, forcing herself to settle down, relaxing her grip on the broom handle. She has to walk past him, since she has to get to the atrium to get to theater fourteen.

As she walks past, she sees him out of the corner of her eye.

He’s watching her, staring at her as she walks past.

Little warning bells go off in Marinette’s head.

She picks up the pace, feeling his eyes on her the whole way, knowing based on the uncomfortable tingle on the back of her neck. She feels it until she rounds the corner into the atrium, no longer in his line of sight. But she doesn’t stop walking, doesn’t even glance back until she’s at the theater doors, trying not to let her hands shake.

_Stop over-reacting Marinette! You’re being paranoid! Stop it!_

_But he’s been sitting there for over thirty minutes! Isn’t that weird?_

_Maybe he’s waiting for someone!_

_But he was_ staring _at me_ —

“You okay, girl?” Marinette jumps at the voice, all too relieved that it’s Alya walking towards her, broom and dustpan in hand. Marinette feels her whole body relax slightly, feeling safer with her friend/manager there. Part of her wants to say something about what’s going on, about the guy on the bench that’s freaking her out. But the other part of her, the part of her that doesn’t want to cause problems, screams that she’s being ridiculous and that there’s nothing to worry about.

“I’m fine,” is all she says, turning into the theater, leading the way in, trying to stamp down her anxiety.

_You’re just over-reacting. You’re just over-reacting._ _He’ll be gone when you come out of this theater._

Twenty minutes later, Marinette is heading to the other side of the complex to clean a theater, and a glance back in the other direction reveals that he is _still there_.

And he’s looking at her _across the theater atrium_.

She bristles, turning back around and quickly walking towards the theater. Uncomfortable doesn’t even _begin_ to describe how she’s feeling right now. She doesn’t know this guy, has never seen him before in her life, and he’s been sitting there watching her, waiting for her, for almost an hour now.

_God, she hopes she’s being paranoid. She_ really _hopes she’s just being paranoid._

_Isn’t this how people wind up getting killed?_

_Does he think he’s flirting?_

The theater takes about fifteen minutes to clean, and Marinette dreads the fact that her next theater is on the other side of the complex, meaning she has to walk past the guy.

She is honestly freaking out a bit.

She goes around cleaning the bathroom instead, putting off walking past him for as long as she can, hoping he will just leave already.

No such luck. She’s peeking out from the bathroom at him, his butt still firmly planted on the bench with no obvious intention of getting up, glancing around casually.

He’s been there for over an hour now.

She should tell someone.

She needs to tell someone, even if it’s just to say that he’s making her nervous and that someone should keep an eye on him. She knows Alya would have her back, even if it meant taking a little teasing for being paranoid.

But there’s that stupid, annoying part of her that insists she’s misreading the situation, that he’s not really watching her, that it’s all one big weird coincidence, that part of her that keeps telling her to calm down, to not freak everyone else out because she’s being suspicious, that she’s just being ridiculous.

_But…_

That stupid voice wins out, telling her that she has a job to do and that she needs to woman-up before she gets herself behind schedule again.

She steps out of the bathroom, walking across the atrium with purpose, not looking at the guy, purposely looking the other way. Before she’s even halfway across the atrium, she feels his eyes on her again, gritting her teeth to get past the uncomfortable situation. She’s passing in front of him, five feet max away from him.

“Excuse me?” he says, and Marinette freezes, part of her wishing she had just kept walking as if she never heard anything. But she acknowledged it by stopping, so she turns toward him, plastering on a smile, trying not make it obvious that she is internally freaking out.

“Yes?” she asks politely, still on the clock, still having to treat this guy like a guest even though part of her is a little terrified.

“I was wondering if I could get your name?” he asks.

“Marinette,” she replies, knowing he could get that much from her name tag. “Dupain-Cheng.” _Shit_. She hadn’t meant to give him her last names. It just came out on its own, and now she’s _really_ trying to recall if this is how people have gotten kidnapped before.

_Quit over-reacting. Quit over-reacting._

“Nice to meet you Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” he says. He gives her his first name, but she’s too busy mentally kicking herself to particularly catch it. She’s going to die. She’s going to get kidnapped and killed and Jesus why did she give this guy her full name now he could find her online she’s going to die—

“Nice to meet you too,” she smiles back, all but gritting her teeth. “Sorry, but I have to go. Theaters to clean and stuff. Have a nice night.”

And then she’s off again, all but running to the next theater.

And then she barely glances back out of the corner of her eye…

He’s following her.

Jesus Christ he’s following her into the theater.

Every warning bell in her head is screaming right now, her whole body tense, heart slamming in her chest, her grip on her broom rock-solid, ready to swing if it came to that.

_Should’ve said something to Alya. Should say something to Alya. Should not walk into this theater on my own with him following me. Why am I still walking in here alone? Why am I not turning around and going to find someone? Why is he following me? I’ll be all alone in this theater. I’m going to die I’m going to die I’m going to_ —

“Marinette?”

She whips around, facing him with a smile, broom held just in front of her, not in an obvious defensive pose, but ready to whip it around if she needs to. Her heart is still pounding, her hands almost shaking. But he looks perfectly composed, a small smile on his face as he stands there in front of her.

_He’s just taller than me. I can beat Adrien at wrestling. I can take this guy. I could_ totally _—_

“Yes?” her voice is tight, a little strained.

“You seem like a nice girl,” he says, “and I was wondering if I could get your number.”

She pauses, realizing what he just said, whole body rigid for a second as she processes it. She adjusts the broom back to her side, suddenly understanding.

_He was…_

She is now _extremely_ uncomfortable.

“Um... sorry,” she says. “I…I have a boyfriend.”

He deflates a little.

“Oh. Okay.”

“Sorry,” she says.

“He’s a lucky guy,” he says, giving her a quick once-over, making her even _more_ uncomfortable.

_Well, she was right. He is a_ bit _creepy, even if his intentions weren’t what she had been dreading._

_Idiot, idiot, idiot. Freaking yourself out over nothing._

He’s still standing there, looking at her.

“I’ll see you around,” he says, and then he turns and he’s gone.

Marinette is left standing there, completely rooted to her spot.

Uncomfortable was an understatement. But at least she was wrong about him wanting to kill her…

She cleans the theater mechanically, and when she walks back into the atrium, the man is nowhere to be found.

She’s never been more relieved.

* * *

 

“You know, you should have just told Alya the guy was making you uncomfortable. She would have taken care of it.”

“I know,” Marinette groans, covering her eyes with her arm. Her feet are up on Adrien’s lap, his fingers pressing and kneading into the soles of her feet, massaging the sore muscles. “I didn’t want to freak anyone out over _nothing_. And look, it turned out to be nothing, so no harm done.”

“But it might not have been nothing,” he says. “You need to trust your gut more. If you think something is wrong, say something. It’s better to be wrong than dead.” Marinette peeks out at him from under her arm, pouting her lips.

“Okay, Mom,” she teases, sticking her tongue out. He raises an eyebrow at her, his fingers pausing for a moment. And then he starts tickling her feet, and she starts screaming, pulling her feet away from him, but he’s got one arm holding her still, trapping them, his other mercilessly tickling. She’s laughing too hard, tears pricking her eyes as she desperately tries to yank her feet away, the sensation making her squeal and wriggle around in his grasp. “Stop stop stop!” she wheezes, trying to roll away, but he’s got her trapped. He pauses for a moment, eyes filled with mirth as he regards her trying to catch her breath.

“Say I’m right,” he requests, a smirk pulling up at the corners of his lips.

“Never,” she gasps, and then he’s tickling her again, making her shriek as the tears run down her face and she jerks around, legs trying in vain to escape his death grip. She would almost be afraid of kicking him in the face if he wasn’t being _so ruthless_. “Okay okay okay!” she yells. “You’re right! You’re right! Stop stop stop!” He continues for another few _agonizing_ seconds before stopping, finally letting her breathe. She mentally vows to get back at him later, her breath ragged as she shoots him a death glare. He just laughs, tipping his head back as he releases her feet.

Forget “later”. Now is as good as any time.

She lets loose a war cry, throwing herself at him across the couch, effectively catching him off guard enough that she is able to grab him and yank him down. He wraps his arms around her, but she’s already got her leg behind him, and she uses that to shove him into the couch and leverage herself over him, grinning down at him as she victoriously straddles him against the cushions. Now it’s his turn to pout.

“You didn’t give me enough warning,” he frowns, pursing his lips at her.

“All’s fair in love and war,” she quotes, not even bothering to smother the grin.

“Well,” he purrs. “In that case…” He leans up, and she meets him half way, pressing her lips soundly to his, relishing the kiss and the way he hums into it. It feels too natural to think that they’ve only been together for just over a month. She feels like she’s known him her entire life, like he’s just always been there.

God, she’s going to miss this when she goes back to college.

But for now, she’s just going to enjoy it. The way his hands naturally find her hips, thumbs just barely finding skin under her shirt, rubbing small circles, fingers splayed against her back, the softness of his hair between her fingers, the gentle, searching way his lips move against hers. Everything else falls away, and there’s just this, just this moment, just him.

It’s absolutely perfect, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah... I lied... Here's another chapter... Hehehe
> 
> Yes, this stuff with the guy sitting there for over an hour DID happen to me. Yes, I was freaking out internally as much as Marinette did. Yes, I chose not to tell anyone because I'M AN IDIOT WHO WALKS INTO A THEATER ALONE WELL AWARE THAT THERE IS SOMEONE FOLLOWING ME...
> 
> Seriously that could have turned out so much worse... I was SO lucky... Instead it was just really awkward... (And yeah, I totally told the guy I had a boyfriend even though I am about as single as you can get because I was EXTREMELY uncomfortable and in the middle of a freak out and sort-of just wanted him to leave... Never saw him again...)... Actually got hit on at the theater twice... Might write about the second time too...
> 
> So yeah, apparently I've got more to write with this fic, so stay tuned for more updates. I've got a couple more theater horror-stories up my sleeve...
> 
> PS: I am WELL aware that a one-month relationship does NOT really look like this... But come ON! These two were meant for each other! I 100% feel like they would be this comfortable with each other after just a month... Especially considering I'm trying to mix in a little bit of their superhero persona into them too... (Fight me!)
> 
> PSS: The whole bit that Adrien told Marinette about, when someone told him they left him "job security"... Yeah, that actually happened to one of my co-workers... Guys, be nice to people... We work hard, and we don't need any "job security"... All people like that do is make us fall behind and piss us off... We work a lot harder than you would think (that goes for anyone in a retail job)... Be nice to people...
> 
> Okay, rant over... Hope you all enjoyed the story! Leave me a shout-out in the comments! I try to respond whenever I can!


	4. Chapter 4

“Oh, Marinette! You’re home early!”

“I went in at one and got off at nine tonight, Mama.”

“You look exhausted! They work you so hard.”

“I’m fine. Just had a weird day.”

“Weird how?”

“Well…”

* * *

 

Marinette keeps telling herself that she needs to talk to Adrien about these ushering shifts he gives her. Sure, she shouldn’t pull strings (that explains why the employee manual says she really _shouldn’t_ be dating him). But he keeps giving her weekday ushering shifts all by herself! Nathaniel doesn’t come in until three, and she’s only been here for an hour, and she’s already thirty minutes behind! It’s a Wednesday for heaven’s sake! It should not be this busy, but it always is when she’s the only usher!

That special showing for the group of kids really killed her. Little shits left the theater a _mess_ , with popcorn literally covering every inch of ground, drinks and kid packs left on every aisle. _That_ theater is what put her so far behind. She has no idea how the chaperones could let the kids leave the theater like that. She would be _appalled_.

She should give Adrien hell.

She won’t.

But she needs to catch up, so she needs to at least ask for help.

“If someone’s free, I need help catching up on some theaters,” she says into her earpiece as she pulls out her theater list. “That kid showing put me really far behind, and I can’t catch up on my own.”

“Where do you need me?” Adrien responds.

“I’m on the South side right now, so if you could head to the North side and hit fifteen, twenty, and eighteen,” she reads down the list, “that would be a huge help.”

“On it.”

On her way to theater five, she glances at the glass exit doors. The sky was looking cloudy when she got here, and sure enough, it’s slowly getting darker with storm clouds. It’ll break soon, and when it does, she assumes it’s going to be a monsoon.

Maybe she’ll have to deal with her first power outage.

She gets through the three theaters on her side as fast as she can, relieved that one of them didn’t require any cleaning. Within fifteen minutes, she’s speed-walking over to the North side, hoping she can at least help Adrien finish eighteen so he can get back to whatever he was doing before. It was probably important, and she always hates bugging management for help when she can’t handle it—

“Hey Mari,” Adrien says, coming out of the theater right as she was about to head in. “Just finished up here.”

“Oh, g-good,” she stammers, getting her bearings again. She hadn’t anticipated that he would have made it to the last theater already, let alone be done with it. “I finished my side and figured I’d come over and help you finish so you could get back to work.”

“You all caught up now?” he asks.

“Yeah. I can handle it from here,” she says. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” he says. “But next time, ask for help before you get so far behind. We’re always here if you need us. No need to stress yourself out.”

“I know, I know,” she says, her feet shuffling a bit as she glances down at them. “The kid group put me a lot farther behind than I anticipated. I’ll be more careful to keep an eye on the other theater times next time.”

“Alright,” he says. His hand lightly grips her shoulder for a moment, and she looks back up to see that he’s giving her that sappy smile that she sorta wants to kiss off his face. If they weren’t at work… “You’re doing well, you know,” he assures her. “I mean, you’re catching on a lot faster than most others do. Rose couldn’t stop going on about how fast you caught on at concessions.”

“Well, she was a great teacher,” Marinette shrugs, but her heart is swelling with the praise. A little affirmation feels nice every once in a while, even she has to admit.

“Just don’t feel like you can’t ask for help every once in a while,” he says. “Especially when you’re the only one here.”

“Well, who’s fault is that?” she smirks. His smile wavers a moment, and he turns away for a second, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, you know what you’re doing, and it’s a weekday, so I thought you could handle it.”

“So, my torture is on purpose!” she exclaims, free hand dramatically resting on her jutted hip, eyes squinted at him.

“If it’s too much for you and you’re feeling overwhelmed, I can try to avoid it in the future—”

“It’s fine,” she says, smiling. “Honestly, it’s okay. I’m just giving you hell. Don’t worry about it.”

“Still though,” he says. “Beyond being my girlfriend. As an employee, I don’t want you feeling overwhelmed or uncomfortable, so let me know. You can talk to me.”

“Your girlfriend?” she raises an eyebrow. Adrien pales.

“I-I mean, I know we n-never really talked about what this i-is,” he stammers, and suddenly he’s the nervous one, shuffling his feet, his eyes not meeting hers. It’s cute. “But, I m-mean, if you’re not okay with it, I get it. We can wait. I-I think of you as my g-girlfriend but if you’re not ready yet I understand—”

She intertwines her fingers with his, effectively shutting him up as she brings his hand up to her lips and presses a soft kiss to his knuckles. His cheeks flush red, and she doesn’t think she’s ever seen him this flustered. If the stammering was cute, this is absolutely _adorable_. She wants to make him look like this more often.

“Well, I’m glad we have a consensus, because I really like calling you my boyfriend.”

It takes him a second, but his look of shock gradually transitions into a full smile as radiant as the sun itself. God, he is beautiful. How did she ever get so lucky…

“Marinette,” Alya’a voices comes through her earpiece, startling her out of the moment. “Theater twelve is on break.”

“On my way,” Marinette responds, not moving from where her feet are firmly planted. Adrien is still staring at her, seemingly trying to get his professional decorum back in order and failing miserably at hiding that goofy smile.

“Duty calls,” he says, somewhat sarcastically.

“Always does,” she sighs, shifting the broom and dustpan in her hand. They stand there, neither quite sure what to do, and neither quite wanting to leave. A muffled boom from one of the nearby movies fills the silence. “I should probably…”

“Yeah,” Adrien nods his head. “Me too.”

“Alya’s probably wondering where I’m at…”

“Chloe will start looking for me if I don’t get back soon…”

“We should…”

“Probably…”

“Yeah…”

Another pause, neither one moving.

It’s not as though it’s awkward or anything like that; they just don’t know where to go from here.

Adrien seems to be the first one to break out of the trance, the smile returning full-force as he slings his arm around her shoulder and starts walking, bringing her with him, heading towards the atrium. She lets herself lean against him for a moment, enjoying his warmth while she can. They probably shouldn’t be doing this. It’s not professional, and if anyone ever saw them, it could mean trouble. But right now, there’s not a soul in sight, so Marinette just appreciates how comfortable she feels tucked against his side. He hums, and she feels it vibrate through his chest.

“What are you doing tonight?” he asks. “After you get off?”

“Papa’s out of town, so I promised my mom I’d help her clean up the bakery when I got home,” she replies.

“Oh, that’s nice,” he says. “What about tomorrow?”

“I’m free,” she says. “What did you have in mind?”

“There’s this new Greek place down the road from my house that I’ve been _dying_ to try,” he says. “I was thinking we could try it out? Then go back to my apartment and watch a movie?”

“Sounds like a date to me,” she smiles. “Pick me up around six?”

“Sounds good.”

He moves his arm from her shoulder and puts a bit of space between them as they round the corner into the atrium, Marinette trying not to look disappointed that she had to leave his warmth. People mill about the large, open space, some people near the concession stand, others near the theater doors chatting idly. Alya is holding one of the doors to theater twelve open as people slowly exit. After offering her boyfriend a quick smile, Marinette heads over to join Alya and hold the other door open, and the brunette proceeds to watch her with a smug look the entire time. It’s almost disconcerting.

“Did you two get it on in a theater or something?” Alya asks when they both walk into the empty theater, out of ear-shot of the general public.

“Eww!” Marinette exclaims. “Are you serious? That’s disgusting.” Alya just shrugs.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

“That is _definitely_ something I _never_ needed to know.”

* * *

“Oh, my dear, defining a relationship isn’t weird.”

“I know that, Mama. I’m getting to the weird part.” _Not that her mom needs to know about the conversation she had with Alya in that theater. That is something she could_ never _share._

“So what happened?”

* * *

The day seemed to spiral downhill from there.

The rainclouds finally moved in and opened up, and when they did, all hell broke loose. One second it was dark and gloomy; the next second, buckets of water were falling from the sky, soaking anyone who happened to be outside in a matter of seconds. People came running into the theater trying to find cover, soaking wet from head to toe and dripping puddles on the tile and carpet. Those that just finished their movies decided to wait it out in the atrium, making the busy theater even more crowded. The rain pounding on the theater roof became a constant source of white noise, loud enough that it could even be heard over some of the movies. Some of the theater roofs even started leaking, making Marinette’s life even more hectic as she juggled cleaning theaters with keeping track of wet floors (and wet floor signs) and maneuvering through the growing crowd.

And then the lightning started.

The first flash and crack of lightning had Alya barking into the coms almost immediately.

“We’ve got lightning everyone. Remember, if the power goes out, everyone who can needs to pick a side and start going through theaters. Tell people that we will get the projectors up and running again as soon as possible. The last thing we need is more people out here standing around. Keep people calm and in their seats.”

“Will do, boss.”

“Sounds good.”

“Okay.”

“Greeeeeat.”

“Alright,” Marinette says, suddenly nervous. She’s been here for over a month now, and she’s never had to deal with a power outage before. Part of her almost wants one to happen, just to say that she’s been through one, just to see what it’s like to deal with it. Part of her doesn’t want to deal with the hell that is sure to ensue.

It’s not even ten minutes later that the lights in the atrium flicker off and then back on.

Then it’s like someone flipped a switch, and all of the theater staff go into overdrive.

“Power went out,” Alya calls though the radio. “I’m heading up to reboot the projectors. Agreste, you coming?”

“On my way,” he replies.

“I’m heading over to the South side.”

“I’m heading to the North side,” Marinette says into the com, speed-walking towards that hallway. Her heart is pounding, something almost like adrenaline pushing her to get through all of the theaters. She doesn’t know why.

She goes into the first theater she comes to, and sure enough, it is pitch black. She hears people talking in low voices as she comes up the small hallway, seeming confused as to what they should do.

“The storm caused a power outage,” she addresses the small crowd as she comes to stand in front of the black projector screen. “We’re currently working on getting your movie back up and running. In the meantime, please sit tight. We’ll get this resolved as soon as possible.”

She heads out, walking briskly into the main hallway to find that there are people emerging from some of the theaters, heading towards the atrium. _Probably trying to make sure that someone knows their movie went out. How would they know that there was a power outage across the entire theater?_

“Excuse me,” Marinette calls, getting their attention. Many of the people turn towards her. “We had a power outage, and we’re trying to get your movies back up as we speak. It would be greatly appreciated if you would all wait in your theaters.” Many people glance at each other, seeming to come to the realization that, “yes, that would make a lot of sense”, before they turn and head back to their theaters.

Marinette proceeds to go through all ten theaters on the North side, giving each crowd the exact same message to sit tight until their movie starts again.

Intermittently, Adrien or Alya will come across the radio, announcing projectors that they had rebooted. Within a minute, whoever was on the South side (she thinks it’s Ivan?) would confirm that movie had resumed playing. Marinette began to do the same thing. Whenever Alya or Adrien said a theater on her side, she would head into the theater and check to make sure that it had started up, radioing a confirmation to them. One theater, some Jaws remake, waited for about ten minutes, and Marinette made sure to radio up to Alya and Adrien that it was still down.

And then the entire ordeal was done, and Marinette relaxed for a second and let herself breathe. Alya and Adrien came down from upstairs, Alya coming back to sit at guest services and continuing with what she had been doing before, seeming a bit exhausted from what Marinette would assume was quite a bit of running around.

And then the lights flickered again.

And it started all over.

All in all, the power went out a total of three times within the span of an hour.

It was absolute hell.

By the end of the storm, Marinette’s time sheet was off by thirty minutes and completely out of order. For an entire two hours, she had to ditch the sheet and try to guess when movies got out, going off of crowds of people and movie endings, peaking into multiple theaters multiple times. It got tiresome and, if she was being honest, a bit impossible. Eventually, Nathaniel showed up for his shift, and they decided it would be best to split the sides and only ask for help if it was needed. When a big theater would let out, Alya would warn them, and they would meet in the atrium to get it done. Afterwards, they would return to their respective sides and check all the theaters to make sure that one didn’t let out while they were gone. It was a nightmare. An exhausting, tedious nightmare.

The rain did nothing to assuage the crowds; if anything, they were busier than ever, the rain driving people into the theater to pass the time or escape. The theaters were too dirty for a Wednesday (didn’t people have to work!), and she spent more than fifteen minutes working through each theater.

She was beyond exhausted when, around five o’clock (a mere four hours after her shift had started), she had a fifteen-minute free-block of time to take her well-deserved break.

That foldable chair in the break room had never felt so comfortable.

* * *

“Oh Marinette, that sounds horrible!”

“It was Mama. I’m so exhausted.”

“Well, you’re home now. I can finish up the bakery. You go wash up—”

“But wait! There’s more!”

* * *

The air is heavy and humid as she makes her way out to her car, her feet dragging against the wet asphalt. Marinette is exhausted, and all she wants to do was go home and curl up in her bed. A streetlight illuminates her car in the parking lot, and she pulls out her phone to check her messages and turn the volume back on.

“Excuse me!”

Marinette whips around, searching out the source of the voice. She finds the person almost immediately. A girl, maybe thirteen or fourteen, is sitting under the overhang by one of the movie theater exits. She doesn’t seem distressed or in any immediate danger, so Marinette stays on the cautious side.

“Yes?” she calls back, maybe a good thirty feet away. “Can I help you with something?” Marinette faintly remembers reading stories and “warnings” on social media of kidnapping scams with this kind of set up. She decides to keep her guard up just to be safe. _It’s better to be wrong than dead._

“Yeah,” the girl calls back. “My phone died, and I was wondering if I could borrow yours to call my mom.”

“Oh yeah, sure,” Marinette says, heading over to the girl. She doesn’t let her guard down, however, keeping a constant eye out for anything out of the ordinary. She taps the button on her phone to pull up the dialing screen before she hands it to the girl.

“Thanks,” she says, taking the phone and entering a phone number before holding it to her ear. “She was supposed to come pick me up a while ago, but I think she forgot.”

“No problem.”

A moment later, the girl starts talking into the phone. Marinette doesn’t pay attention to everything being said. But, she does hear the girl say something about waiting hours, her voice getting very clipped and loud. It turns into a bit of an argument, with the girl obviously getting annoyed (and Marinette almost feels a bit awkward just standing here). The girl begins trying to describe where she is, though her description is very vague and doesn’t make much sense.

“We’re at the back of the movie theater by one of the main exits, if that helps,” Marinette supplies. The girl repeats the information into the phone before ending the call and handing the phone back to Marinette.

“Thanks,” the girl says, getting to her feet. “My mom will be here in a few minutes.”

“You know, you could have waited in the movie theater instead of waiting out here,” Marinette tells her. “I’m sure they would have let you sit inside and call your mom from their phone.”

“Maybe,” the girl says, almost dismissing in her tone. That seems very strange. “But thanks for your help.” The girl stands up, picking up her jacket and purse that had been sitting beside her.

“Glad I could help,” Marinette says. Mentally, she debates whether she should stay with the girl until her mom comes to get her. But then, the girl begins to walk away, leaving the overhang and heading into the deserted mall parking lot.

_Shouldn’t she be waiting here?_

Marinette wants to say something, but ultimately, she doesn’t, and she chooses to walk to her car instead, an eye on the girl the entire time. The girl seems to be walking towards the Macy’s in the mall the movie theater is attached to, crossing the parking lot and aiming in that direction. Marinette gets into her car and watches the girl as she walks further and further away.

_Is that not counter-productive?_

And then, for whatever reason, the girl starts running. She’s in a full sprint, and she quickly disappears around the side of the Macy’s and out of Marinette’s sight. There is no one else around, no one else to bear spectacle to what-the-heck just happened.

_Why did she tell her mom where she was and then leave?_

_Why was she running?_

_What just happened?_

Out of nowhere, she recalls someone saying something over the radio today about the police looking for some kid. She wonders…

She starts her car and pulls out of her spot right as someone (looks like Nino) comes walking out the back of the theater, probably on break. Marinette pulls her car around and stops beside him, rolling down her window.

“Hey Nino,” she says. “When the police came by today, were they looking for a teenage girl?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Why?”

“I may have just found her,” Marinette says, her brows knitting together. She proceeds to recount everything that just transpired, ending with how the girl ran around the side of the Macy’s.

“That’s…” he says, trailing off as if looking for the right word, “kinda weird.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“I’ll let someone know,” he says.

“Thanks,” she says, glad she can do something with this information. “Have a good night, Nino.”

“You too, Mari.”

* * *

“So I assume you have no idea what happened to the girl?”

“Almost there.”

* * *

She’s driving about sixty miles per hour down the state road when her phone starts ringing, her car’s music cutting off as the call connects through her Bluetooth. She glances down at the screen to see that it’s some phone number that she doesn’t know. She accepts the call, only to be greeted with excessive background shouting when she does. She turns down the volume a few notches.

“Hello?” she says, very confused. Her eyes remain glued to the dark road ahead of her. There are no other cars in sight.

“Hello?” the voice, female, a bit husky, replies.

“Hi, yes, who is this?” Marinette asks.

“WHERETHEHELLISMYDAUGHTERIWANTTOKNOWWHERESHEISRIGHTNOWISSHEWITHYOU!”

“Ma’am,” Marinette’s eyes go wide, unable to understand a thing the angry woman is saying. “Ma’am, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“DON’TYOULIETOMEIKNOWSHE’SWITHYOUSHEJUSTCALLEDMEANDIHAVETHEPOLICE—”

“Ma’am, I can’t understand you,” Marinette says. She swore she heard the words “daughter” and “called” and “police” somewhere in there. Then it hits her. “Wait, is this about the girl at the movie theater? The one I let borrow my phone?”

“Is my daughter with you right now?” the woman exclaims, much more reasonably now, though she’s still yelling into the phone, and she sounds exceptionally angry.

“I have no idea where she is,” Marinette says. “I-I let her borrow my phone because she said hers was dead. She was sitting outside of the movie theater exit. She called someone, I assume you, gave me back my phone, and then she ran off. The last I saw her she was running towards Macy’s.”

“So she’s not with you?” the woman yells. There are voices in the background, and Marinette can’t make out what they’re saying.

“No ma’am,” Marinette says.

The phone disconnects.

Marinette scrunches her eyebrows in confusion, the silence eventually replaced by her radio as the Bluetooth disconnects.

_What the fuck just happened?_

* * *

“She just hung up?”

“She just hung up.”

“Did she call you back?”

“Nope.”

“That is very strange indeed.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“I wonder what happened.”

“…”

“So do you still want help cleaning the bakery.”

“I can manage on my own, dear. Go head up to your room and shower. You had a rough day.”

“Are you sure, Mama?”

“I’m positive. There’s not much to do tonight. I’ll bring you up some leftover cookies when I’m done. I made some your favorite chocolate chip.”

“Thank you.” She kisses her mom on the cheek. “Love you, Mama.”

“Love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, 4000 words... Guess that's a new record for this story! Lol. A lot happened this chapter, so I guess that explains it...
> 
> Once again, this chapter is based on something that happened to me when I worked at a movie theater... Everything I wrote about (except for the Adrienette fluff and the following bit with Alya) actually happened to me in the span of one day. I started off the day really behind because of some horrible kid group that trashed the theater (it was a showing of the new Ice Age movie... It was so bad that I actually remembered the movie...) and had to call a manager for help to get back on track. Then the power went out three times and I spent the next two hours scrambling because our theater sheets were all off (For those of you who couldn't figure it out, the "theater sheets" I keep mentioning are these sheets of paper that all ushers get that have the theaters organized by movie release time, that way you can just go down the list and go theater to theater cleaning at the given time). Then that weird bit with that teenage girl happened followed by her angry mother calling me and yelling at me because she thought I had her daughter or something... Still don't know how that whole thing resolved... But yeah... All in all, a very strange day for me, so I thought I'd share...
> 
> So, this chapter was written a little differently than normal. It was supposed to reflect recounting a story to someone (hence, constant breaks with Marinette and her mom talking) because the first thing I did that night when I got home was tell my mom EVERYTHING that happened. So that's why this one feels a little different than the previous chapters.
> 
> As always, feel free to drop a comment. I love talking to you guys and hearing what you have to say (including listening to some of your whacky stories!). To those of you that have been following this story: Love you guys! To those of you just starting to read it: I hope you are enjoying my suffering! :D


	5. Chapter 5

The closing usher shift…

Marinette doesn’t know how she managed to avoid it for this long. Maybe Adrien was sparing her. Maybe it was just a coincidence. Maybe she was just _really_ lucky. Whatever the reason, she had yet to come face-to-face with this very beast.

But today, it appears her luck ran out.

Her shift time from six at night to one in the morning had been an indicator that she was going to have a long night ahead of her, that she would probably be the designated closing usher. It was a job she was not eager to do. Nino told her that if she was smart about it, she could just pick a theater to chill out in and watch a movie until it was closing time. But, with Sabrina as the closing manager, she’s not sure she’d want to risk slacking off. Sabrina is friendly enough, but she’s a known hard-ass, and getting caught not working would not be beneficial. No, she’d be stuck walking around the empty halls aimlessly for the last few hours of the shift, waiting for everyone to go home and leave her and Sabrina to lock up.

It was a weekday, though, so maybe it wouldn’t be too bad…

It was still a night she was not looking forward to.

That day, when she walks in the back door of the theater, hair pulled back into her usual pig tails and her cell phone and ball-point pen in her pocket, she already feels like crap. After signing in on the computer, she grabs a theater time sheet, folding it so that the previous theater times are not visible and she’s left glancing over the theaters about to let out. Four theaters are about to release within five minutes of each other. She snaps a radio onto her belt and puts the earpiece in her ear, taking a second to adjust it so that it fits snuggly and won’t fall off.

“Who else is ushering right now?” she asks into the microphone, grabbing a broom and dustpan as she makes her way into the atrium. She heads toward the first theater on the list, hoping to maybe get ahead of this rush before she gets swamped.

“Looks like Kym was supposed to be with you, but he just called out,” someone, maybe Sabrina, says through the radio. _Great. Just my luck._ “So until I can get someone else in, it looks like you’re on your own.” _Just perfect._

“Thanks,” she replies. She groans, pinching the bridge of her nose to stop the headache she can already feel coming.

_It’s gonna be one heck of a night._

* * *

It’s an hour into her shift, Marinette is working on a big theater by herself, no one has shown up yet to help her, and that headache she felt before has turned into a full-blown migraine. It feels like someone is taking a jackhammer to her head in the most literal sense, and she doesn’t know what exactly brought it on. She considers running out to her car to grab some pain-killers out of her glovebox, but she decides against it. She’s already two theaters behind, and she can’t afford to waste time that she doesn’t have. She’ll do it the next time she has a short break between theaters.

She picks up an abandoned tub of popcorn in the middle of the row of seats, setting the accompanying drink down inside of it and heading to the end of the aisle where she can just make out the shape of a candy box on the ground. Using the old popcorn tubs to carry trash has helped make her job a bit easier, minimizing the number of trips she has to make to the trashcans. _It would be even easier if people would just throw away their own garbage._ She loads up the popcorn tub with trash and carries it up the stairs to the trashcan on the second floor. The climb up the stairs leaves her a bit winded (a bit more than usual, for whatever reason), but she dismisses it as she heads back into the theater. She grabs her broom off the seat that she left it on as a marker, continuing down that aisle and sweeping up dropped popcorn and candy as she goes, squinting into the semi-darkness to try to distinguish trash from a shadow in the concrete floor.

She’s still a bit winded from the stairs.

It’s weird.

Her head pounds a little harder, and she closes her eyes momentarily against the pain and scrunches her nose, attempting to create some kind of pressure to force the ache away. It doesn’t seem to be working, so she opens her eyes again with a groan and keeps making her way down the aisle.

Only, when she takes a step forward, the whole world momentarily lists to the left, and she grabs onto the seat beside her to catch herself from falling over. Everything lurches back upright, making her head spin, and she’s clinging to the seat, her eyes wide. It’s then that she becomes keenly aware of the buzzing in her ears, and the slight darkness creeping into the edges of her vision.

“No, no, no,” she murmurs, sitting herself down in the closest seat and putting her head between her knees, trying to get rid of the light-headedness. “I don’t need this right now. I _really_ don’t need this right now.”

Marinette is no stranger to randomly getting light-headed. Hell, if her middle name wasn’t already “The Klutz”, it would probably be “The Girl Who Gets Light-Headed Every Time She Stands Up”. It’s something she’s been dealing with off-and-on for a few years now. Mainly, it’s just when she stands up too fast. She’ll get sudden tunnel-vision, her ears will hollow out, and her head will momentarily feel like it’s filled with cotton. But within a few seconds, it will go away, and she can continue as she was without hindrance. It’s even gotten to the point that, even with her vision mostly blacked out, she can keep walking through her house to wherever she’s going, using her hand as a gentle guide until everything returns to normal. The doctor says it mainly has to do with diet, and that her iron is a bit lower at times than it should be. His advice is to eat more iron-rich foods any time she starts to feel like this, and to drink more water. It helps.

But this is completely new to her.

She’s never had a spell like this; it’s never hit her while she was up and walking around.

She doesn’t know what to think.

_Time to call a manager._

_No. I can handle this. It always goes away on its own. I’ll be fine._

_Marinette, you’re being stubborn._

She dismisses Adrien’s chiding voice in her head, forcing herself back onto her feet. She stands for a second, finding her bearings again, but feeling a little bit better (but not completely).

Her head is still pounding, only now it feels a bit like it’s filled with stuffing.

_Keep moving. It’ll go away eventually._

So she does just that. She keeps moving.

She moves through the rest of the theater a bit slower than before, not by any conscious effort. She’s hyper-aware of the constant hum in her ears, of every time the world dips slightly to the side, of every time her vision gets so dark that she has to sit down again.

The third time she finds herself in a seat, she’s on the verge of having a breakdown.

She knows she’s falling further and further behind. She’s been working on this theater for twenty minutes now, and another theater just let out, putting her three theaters behind now. She’s freaking out because she has no idea why her body is doing this to her, and she doesn’t know if she should be worried or not or if this is at all related to her usual dizzy spells. She had some salad with her dinner, and she’s not even in that time of the month when the dizziness gets bad. This should _not_ be happening right now!

She takes a shuddering breath, trying to calm herself back down. She needs to get a grip. She presses her hands against her face, the relative coolness of her fingers soothing the headache slightly and clearing her head a bit.

She’ll ask Sabrina to help her catch back up on theaters and she’ll see how she feels after that. If she’s not feeling better by then, she’ll let Sabrina know.

_It’s gonna look bad if you ask to go home on the one night you’re closing usher._

“Can someone help me catch back up on theaters?” she asks into the radio, her head still down. She can’t tell if her voice was wobbling or not. She thinks it might have been.

“Where do you want me to meet you?” Sabrina replies.

“If you could head to seventeen, I’ll meet you there as soon as I finish twelve.”

“On my way.”

Marinette takes one more deep breath, and then she pushes herself to her feet. She has three more rows to finish in this theater.

It takes her five whole minutes.

By the time she walks into the theater she said she’d meet Sabrina in, her vision is basically swimming, and her fingers feel a bit numb, and her head is only pounding _harder_.

“I just finished up this one.” Sabrina. She’s standing on the steps of the theater, looking at her as she walks in. “Where to next?” _What was the next theater?_ She doesn’t remember, racking her brain for the number, feeling like she’s reaching around in fog. _The list._

“I… Um..” Marinette stammers, fumbling for the list in her pocket. Her fingers have a hard time gripping the paper, and it takes her two tries to get the damn thing out of her pocket, and she can feel her hands trembling. “I think… um…” She holds the list in front of her face, but the letters and numbers all smear and shake, and she can’t read the damn thing, and the buzzing in her ears is getting louder, and she can feel the darkness creeping into her vision before she sees it, feels the way her whole head feels like it’s constricting and squeezing her pounding brain, “shit shit shit,” she feels her legs start to give the moment before it happens, and she has enough in her to grab and theater seat in front of her, “shit shit,” before her knees buckle and she goes down, just able to sit herself in the seat, her head instantly between her knees as she forces shaky breaths into her lungs.

_What the fuck is going on?_

“Marinette!” Sabrina’s voice is distant, but Marinette forces herself to focus on it, to try to stop herself from passing out. “Marinette! Oh my God! Are you okay?”

“Don’t… feel so… good,” she manages between gasps, well aware that tears are streaming down her cheeks because god, now she’s having a breakdown in front of one of her bosses, and she feels like she’s going to pass out at any second here.

“Do you need me to call someone?” she asks.

“Just,” she breathes. “Just… gimme a second.”

She focusses first on getting her breathing back under control, trying to stop herself from sobbing and _really_ having a mental breakdown because god this is _scary_. She forces deep breaths into her lungs, concentrating on slowing down her rapid breathing and trying to reign this back in. She can do this. She just needs to calm herself back down. She’s done this before.

_Not like this. Not in front of your boss. Never been this bad before._

_Stop thinking. Relax. Relax. Breathe._ _In. Out. In. Out._

_You’re going to get in trouble, if not fired._

_Just breathe. Come on Marinette. In. Out. In… Out… In…_

It’s a long minute before her breathing finally slows back down, though her head still feels like it’s packed tight with cotton, and her vision is still shaky at best when she looks down at her shoes. She’s sure her watery eyes don’t help that much.

“Sorry,” she says, her voice shaking. “I just… It’s never been this bad before. And normally it goes away. But this one didn’t, but I thought it would…” She’s still staring at her shoes, at the gray-painted concrete floor.

“You think you can make it up to the break room?” Sabrina asks, her voice soft. Marinette wipes her eyes, finally lifting her head. Somehow, it feels a bit clearer than it did a few minutes ago, like all she needed to do was let it all out.

“Y-yeah. I think so.”

“Good. I’ll meet you up there in a few minutes. Alright?”

“Okay,” Marinette says. Sabrina reaches down to grab Marinette’s broom and dustpan (which she had apparently dropped), giving Marinette a moment to collect herself and get back on her feet. She’s shaky, but she’s standing, her feet feeling a bit heavy. Sabrina’s watching her cautiously, seemingly ready to lunge for her if she needs it. But already, Marinette is starting to feel a bit better, the fog in her head dissipating a bit more. She treads slowly out of the theater, Sabrina just behind her, both brooms and dustpans in hand, Marinette’s forgotten list in her pocket.

Sabrina rushes back to the main office, and Marinette makes it to the elevator without incident, though Nino watches her from the guest services desk with a small frown. She just shoots him a weak smile before stepping in the old elevator and riding it up, leaning against the wall for a moment. She’s feeling a lot better now, but now she just feels hollow and empty, like someone opened a faucet and drained every bit of willpower out of her. The pounding in her head is just a dull throb now, and she’s not even thinking. It’s like everything is just… blank.

It’s almost like she floats into the break room, sitting in the first chair she sees and putting her head down on the table, letting her eyes close.

She’s a mess right now, and she knows it.

This was _not_ how she expected this night to go.

* * *

Sabrina shows up a few minutes later, and Marinette has all but dissociated, letting her mind wander. The manager sets a glass of water down on the table, and Marinette stares at it a moment before reaching out and taking it.

“How’re you feeling?” Sabrina asks, leaning against the far wall.

“Not like I’m going to pass out at the moment, if that’s what you’re asking,” Marinette says dryly, though she smiles a bit. She takes a sip of the water, her hands barely shaking anymore. “But a bit better.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling that way?”

“It usually goes away on its own,” Marinette shrugs. “Figured it would.”

“Well next time, please tell someone,” Sabrina says. “I _really_ don’t want to have to explain to Chloe how I managed to let one of my employees pass out on the job.” Marinette chuckles, her eyes not meeting Sabrina’s.

“I really am sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“I know,” Sabrina says. “I’m gonna send you home for the night, alright?”

_You know how bad this looks. Out of nowhere you almost pass out, right in front of your boss, and now she’s sending you home, and suddenly you seem a lot better? Yeah, not suspicious at all…_

“I’m the closing usher,” Marinette says, as if that will change anything.

“I know,” Sabrina says. “I filled Nino in. He said he’ll take over for you.”

“Oh,” is all she says. Nino’s going to take her shift. She’ll have to thank him for covering for her later.

“Do you need to call a ride or someone to come pick you up?”

Right. Marinette probably should not be driving right now. Not a good idea.

“I’ve, um, got my phone,” she says, holding the device up. “I’ll call someone.” Sabrina nods her head.

“Alright. Just give Nino your radio when you head back down. I already clocked you out, so don’t worry about it. Just get home and work on feeling better.”

“Thanks,” she says, a bit at a loss for words. Sabrina turns and heads out the door, letting it softly click closed behind her.

Marinette can’t help but feel like she might have misjudged Sabrina just a little bit.

* * *

It’s only nine o’clock and she’s already lying in her bed, on her mother’s orders, really. After picking her up (and bringing her dad along to drive her car home for her), her mama had informed her that she was to march right upstairs and get in bed and go to sleep. It’s probably the earliest she’s been in bed in over a month, and she can’t help but question how strange it feels.

She still feels like she’s running on empty, yet she’s not quite tired either.

It’s the strangest combination.

She’s just staring at the dark ceiling, not a thought in her mind, eyes not quite willing to close yet. She’s almost aware of how hollow her head feels, of how muted everything seems.

She wants to sleep, feels like she needs to, but it just won’t come.

She hears something, like a soft tap, coming from her balcony door. She pauses, listening carefully for it. Sure enough, the tapping comes again, this time with a bit more force. Her eyebrows knit together in confusion. _What could possibly—_

“Princess?”

_Oh._

She carefully climbs out of bed and walks over to the hatch that leads up to her balcony, undoing the lock and popping the door open. Sure enough, Adrien is standing there, much to her amazement.

“What are you doing?” she asks, her eyebrows still drawn together in confusion. “How did you get up here?”

“Sabrina texted and told me what happened,” he says, eyeing her up and down, as if to make sure she was still in one piece. “Thought I’d come over and check on My Lady.”

“But why are you on my balcony?”

“Oh, well, you know,” he shrugs, rubbing his neck. “I figured I’d climb up here because it’s more, um, romantic.” He almost makes it sound like a question, his eyes darting to the side, his hand still rubbing at his neck.

“Uh huh,” she says, not having the energy to raise an eyebrow at him. Her look must be enough though, because when he glances back at her, his lips press into a straight line.

“Also your dad scares me a little,” he adds quickly. Marinette manages a small smile.

“You know my parents love you, right?” she says, moving out of the way of the door and motioning for him to come in.

“I know that,” he says, stepping in her room. “But your dad could still crush me with his little finger if he wanted to, which is a little terrifying. I’m not sure how much he likes me being up here alone with you.”

“Papa wouldn’t hurt a fly,” she tells him. “Plus, he’d probably be more upset about you sneaking in from the balcony than coming in the front door.”

“Very true,” Adrien concedes. “Maybe I should go back down and knock—” She cuts him off by wrapping her arms around him, burying her face in his chest and just holding him, letting him ground her again. His arms slowly wind around her waist in return, holding her against him. She stays like that, just breathing him in, willing the numbness in her mind to fade away, pushing away the memories of today and just focusing on the boy in her arms.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly. She hums, her fingers on his back absently playing with the soft material of his shirt.

“I’m fine,” she mumbles, nuzzling further into him. “Just had a rough day.” Clinging to his shirt is the faintest smell of aftershave and something else, something sweet and familiar that she can’t identify. She likes it.

“Are you sure?” he asks, the concern evident in his tone. She nods her head, rumpling his shirt in the process and not caring the slightest.

“I’ve been dealing with it for years. I’ll be fine once I sleep it off.”

“Should I go?” She shakes her head, tightening her grip on him.

“Stay?” It’s a simple request, a loaded request, one that she formed into a question so that he’d have a way out if he wanted. He doesn’t have to stay, and she won’t try to force him.

He sweeps her up into his arms, and she doesn’t even have it in her to protest. She just lets him walk her back over to her bed, still trying to piece together what that sweet smell in his shirt is. The hand under her legs fumbles with the blankets in an attempt to move them out of the way, his lips quirking down into a frown when he has trouble with the task. It pulls a small chuckle out of her. The moment is short-lived, as he eventually moves the covers enough to set her down on the mattress and slide in next to her, pulling the sheets over the both of them and wrapping his arm around her and snuggling up against her. She buries her face against his chest, and she feels his chin come to rest against the top of her head. She wraps her arms around him, letting his warmth envelope her and wash away the numbness she had a hard time shaking before. He makes everything seem real, like he can drag her back to the present and ground her in reality again. That overwhelming emptiness, like a gaping hole in her mind, begins to recede, replaced by thoughts of how nice it feels to hold Adrien in her arms, to feel his chest rise and fall in a perfect rhythm, to listen to his quiet breathing and match hers to it, to let herself forget everything except for this moment, this feeling.

“Goodnight, buginette,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.

“Goodnight, mon minou,” she mumbles, already feeling herself drifting.

It’s the best night’s sleep she’s had in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I almost passed out in front of my manager once... Woohoo... Go me... (Seriously though is it bad that the one thing I had been worrying about was how bad it looked? Like, I'm on the verge of passing out, and I'm more worried about the fact that my manager is going to think I'm trying to skip out on a crappy shift... I don't always understand what my brain is thinking...)
> 
> But yeah, 100% true story (except for the Adrien fluff at the end, of course)... The entire experience was weird. Yeah, I do get dizzy spells all the time, mainly when I stand up too fast, and I get REALLY light headed to the point that I sometimes have to steady myself against a wall and my vision blacks out completely... It's not fun... But I deal with it, and it always goes back to normal within a minute... It's almost a game at this point of how far came I make it through the house without being able to see anything...
> 
> That one day at the theater though... That was BAD... Only time it has ever happened to me like that... Had to call my mom to come pick me up (and may have had a second breakdown in the break room while I was talking to her before my manager came back up to check on me... Hehe). Mom brought a family friend with her to drive my car back to the house, since I didn't really trust myself to drive... Probably a good call, because I felt numb the rest of the night, and spent the entire ride home completely dissociated... It was freaky feeling... But, that was, in fact, the best I had slept in a while (once I was actually able to fall asleep). So I guess there was one positive to the entire thing???
> 
> Anyways, let me know what you all think! I love your guys' comments and I love talking with you all and hearing your whacky stories! (Also, all your nice comments make my day, so thank you! :D )
> 
> Coming up next: Marinette's gonna get hit on again, only this time it will be less "creepy" and more annoying than anything... Can't wait... :|


	6. Chapter 6

Marinette is all but counting the seconds until she can officially close the concession stand. It’s ten o’clock, and Alya had told her she had to wait until ten-thirty (which is ten minutes after the final movie of the night starts). It’s a week night, so business is slow. _Slower than usual_ , she reminds herself, drumming her fingers on the counter. Nino had elected for her to sit at the register while he started closing procedures, moving candy racks back and stocking the coolers for the time being. So now she’s sitting here, staring at an empty atrium.

Waiting.

_Ughhhhh._

She presses the feed button on her receipt printer, letting a good few inches of blank paper roll through before she tears it off. A design for a ladybug-inspired sundress has been sitting in the back of her mind all day, so she might as well sketch it out while she can. While she doesn’t have her pencils, she’ll happily use the register pen if it means getting to do something other than zone out for the next thirty minutes.

She starts sketching, pen scratching out a loose shape on the flimsy paper as she sorts through the idea lingering in her head. Habitually, she glances up every minute or so to watch for any approaching customers (or managers) before going back to the task at hand. She starts off giving the dress a sweetheart neckline, cinching it in at the waist before letting the skirt flair out and end just above the knees. She starts sketching the pattern, adding a bit of embroidery to the bottom hem of the skirt.

She grimaces, deciding she doesn’t like the sweetheart neckline as much as she had thought she would. She crumbles up the small piece of paper and tosses it in the trashcan behind her, ripping another piece from the receipt printer.

She starts off this time with a slightly less casual design, choosing to get rid of the low neckline feel of a classic sundress and instead drawing the neckline high. Part of her considers a turtleneck, but then she decides she wants it just a bit lower, enough to cover the wearer’s clavicle and just begin to touch the neck. She adds cap sleeves, toning down the higher neckline’s formality a bit. She still brings it in at the waist and flairs the skirt out, ending it above the knees, and she can already tell than she likes the higher neckline a lot more.

_Maybe I can have the high neckline be sheer and have the sweetheart as a second-layer beneath it. I could add some black embroidery from the upper portion of the bodice down to the waist and along the bottom of the skirt. But I should be careful with the pattern, or else it will begin to look too formal for a casual dress. Maybe a bit less on the bodice_ —

“Hey.”

Marinette jumps a mile, just managing to pull her pen away from her paper before she accidentally ruined the design. Quick as a whip, she hides the drawing paper behind her register as she turns to look at the customer ( _customers, plural_ ) that just appeared at her register.

“Welcome! What can I get for you?” she smiles automatically, the routine drilled into her head now that she’s worked here for over two months now. There are three guys standing in front of her, all of them somewhere around her age. The guy in front smiles back at her, glancing up at the menu while one of his buddies peruses the last remaining candy rack still left out. The third guy is just standing there, looking around, chewing on something, his gums smacking. Marinette tries not to frown at the disgusting noise.

“I wanna do a popcorn,” front guy says, more to himself. He turns back to his friends. “You guys want some popcorn if I get a large?”

“I sorta want some candy,” the guy in the back says, eyes still scanning the rack. “How much is it?”

“Anything on top rack is $3.99, anything on the bottom two racks is $4.49,” Marinette supplies. The guy whistles lowly.

“Kinda pricey, don’t you think,” he comments, eyes seeming to flicker between two candies.

“I don’t make the prices,” Marinette shrugs. “I just hit the buttons and take the money.”

“Touché,” he says, seeming to decide on a top shelf candy ( _Crunch bites_ ) which he sets on the counter. Marinette enters the item into the register.

“So was that a yes on the popcorn?” Marinette asks.

“Sure why not,” the guy up front says. “Make it a large. I know these two will end up stealing half of it anyways.”

“You get a free refill on the large,” Marinette supplies, entering the popcorn into her register. She turns around, pops a bag, and starts filling it with popcorn, talking to the guys over her shoulder. “You guys want any drinks with that? Fountain drink? ICEE? Anything from the fridges next to you?”

“We’re good,” he says, glancing between his friends. “You want anything, Sam?” He’s addressing the third guy, the one who was just standing there chewing with his mouth open. He hums non-committedly, eyes glancing around, landing on Marinette as she turns back around and puts the popcorn on the counter.

“How much did you say the candies were?” he asks, voice heavy with a Southern twang. He’s still chewing, quite loudly, and Marinette tries to ignore it.

“Top shelf is $3.99. Bottom shelves are $4.49,” she repeats. He hums, smirking.

“What about sodas?”

“The small is $5.19, and the prices go up by 50 cents with each size.” He hums again, grin growing wider for whatever reason. With that, the chewing gets louder too. _Is that gum?_

“What about the ICEEs?” he asks.

“$5.69 for the regular. $6.19 for the large.”

“And how big’er those?”

Marinette goes to quickly grab the two cups for a size comparison. Behind her back, she hears one of the guys (the first one, she thinks), annoyedly mumble something about the other one not really wanting to buy anything. She turns back, holding up the two cups.

“Regular and large,” she says, motioning with each cup. The guy in front is definitely annoyed, standing with his arms crossed looking at chewing guy, who is still standing there smirking.

“Nah, I don’t want an ICEE,” he says. Marinette puts the two cups back, gritting her teeth while her back is turned. “How much are the Sour Skittles again?”

“$4.49,” she responds with forced pleasantness, trying to not let her annoyance at this guy show. He’s being indecisive and annoying, and his smirk tells her that he knows it. Chewing guy grabs the bag of candy and tosses it on the counter, and Marinette enters it into the computer. “You’re all paying together, right?”

“Yeah, I’m paying,” front guy confirms.

“Do you have our rewards card?” Marinette asks. “You’ll get some discounts on the order if you do. Plus you’ll get more points towards rewards.”

“Nah, I don’t have one,” he says, digging through his wallet.

“Well, if you know of a family member that has one, I could pull up their account for you so you can still get the discount. All I need is a phone number.” She tells it to all three guys, opening the possibility for one of them to come forward with a family account number just in case.

“Nah,” he shrugs. “We don’t have—”

“Hold on,” chewing guy steps forward. “I might have one.”

“Okay, just give me the phone number on the account,” Marinette says, pulling up the account look-up screen. Chewing guy rambles off a phone number, gums smacking against whatever is in his mouth. _It’s so gross_ …

“Nothing under that one,” she says.

“Can I try another one?” he asks, leaning forward on the counter.

“Sure,” Marinette says, pulling up the screen again. He says another phone number, which Marinette carefully enters into the system. _Is it gum? Or is he chewing something else?_

“Nope,” she says after that one comes up unknown as well.

“Dude, come on,” first guy nudges his friend. “You don’t have one.”

“Give me a second,” chewing guy insists, still leaning on the counter. _Ew. It’s chewing tobacco. Gross, gross, gross!_ “Try…” he rambles off another number, which Marinette scrambles to enter in, getting progressively more annoyed. Heck, she’s about ready to vault over the counter and throttle the guy if he doesn’t chew with his _damn mouth closed_ —

“Nothing for that one either,” she forces a smile, drawing upon that store of self-control she keeps for moments like this. This guy is honestly just grossing her out and—

“Well, in that case, can I get your number?”

Marinette’s brain screeches to a halt, and she just stares at the guy in astonishment. _Did he just…? Did he just waste my time entering in a bunch of phone numbers…? Just to try to get my number?_ The guy is smirking, obviously impressed with himself for how smooth he thinks he was. Marinette just can’t over the fact that he thinks he’s so amazing when he’s been smacking his gums like a horse for the past five minutes, and proceeded to hit on her by annoying the tar out of her. _Is this guy serious?_

“No,” she says simply, still smiling, way over this. It’s late, she’s tired, and this shit is the last thing she wants to deal with. No, now she just wants him to leave. She turns her attention back to the first guy. “Your total is $18.70.”

Chewing guy jerks upright, almost as if she had electrocuted him, or slapped him, looking very offended that she told him ‘no’. _He’s not even upset. He’s offended. What the heck is up with this guy?_ The third friend who was just standing off in the back snorts, and the front guy is obviously trying not to smirk.

“Fine,” chewing guy grumbles, grabbing his bag of candy and stomping off to go stand somewhere else.

“Sorry about him,” the first guy says softly, holding out his credit card. Marinette just shrugs and takes the card, swiping and handing it back. Chewing guy comes back a moment later, standing a solid 2 meters away from the register, staring daggers at Marinette, still chewing.

“Enjoy your movie,” is all she says, giving them all a warm smile. The last two guys collect their stuff, chewing guy still eyeing her. She ignores him and moves to pull her sketch back out as they all begin to walk towards their theater. A few meters away, she hears him complaining to his two friends, glancing back at her again before they turn the corner out of the atrium.

“Ugh,” she groans, rolling her eyes and going back to her design, ready to forget all about that entire encounter.

Part of her brain remains fixed on the idea that there are still some people out there that use chewing tobacco.

_Gross._

* * *

 

“God, I thought only old people chew that stuff anymore,” Adrien says.

“I know, right,” Marinette exclaims, burrowing further into his side. It’s the next night, and neither of them were scheduled (she swears Adrien does this on purpose when he makes the schedule), so she decided to come spend the night with him. They’re curled up on his couch, Adrien laying out on the edge, Marinette tucked up between him and the back-couch cushions with her arm around his waist, head pillowed on his chest. One of his hands lightly drums on her back while the other holds the remote pointed at the television, skimming through Netflix for something to watch. “It was, honestly, so gross. And he was just standing there chewing with his mouth open the entire time, and I just…” she squirms against him, readjusting herself again. “Ugh. I couldn’t take it.”

“Two guys in a month though,” he comments, lazily scrolling through the movie options. “I’m gonna have to start beating them off with sticks soon, aren’t I?  Should I be investing in a staff or something?”

“Thanks for the offer,” she smiles, pressing a kiss to his clothed chest. “But, I am perfectly capable of beating the guys off myself,”

“That’s what she said,” he deadpans. She smacks him on the chest, smirking when he yowls in protest.

“You deserved it,” she shrugs, snuggling back against him. He looks down at her, lip pouted.

“Ow,” he whines. Marinette mockingly rolls her eyes, smiling. “That _hurt_.”

“Like I actually hit that hard,” she drawls, reaching up and bopping him on the nose with her finger. “Kitty just doesn’t like it when his Bugaboo retaliates against his nasty jokes.” He just pouts his lip more, green eyes wide. She’s faintly reminded of that one cat from the Shrek movies when it gives the “kitten eyes”. The boy under her could give that cat a run for its money.

“You’re stronger than you look,” he whines, drumming hand settling on the small of her back.

“I _seriously_ didn’t even hit that _hard_ , Drama Queen,” she groans. “Geez. You would think I just whacked you with a crowbar or something.” She lays her head back down on his chest, but he moans in faux pain, moving under her and forcing her to sit back up.

“Owie,” he whines, pouting his lips again.

“Oh my god,” she grumbles. “What do I have to do to get this to stop?”

“I think, if you gave me a kiss, it would feel better,” he says, bottom lip still jutted out. She raises an eyebrow at him.

“A kiss, you say?” she asks. “Is that all I need to do to get you to stop whining?” He nods his head vigorously, corners of his lips twitching up into satisfied smirk. _Smug little bastard…_ “Fine.”

She sits up a bit so that she can lean over him, bringing her face up near his. He’s watching her, happy little smile still in place as she leans forward, bringing her lips within an inch of his and pausing. She stays there a moment, feeling his breath touch her lips, before she touches her forehead to his, their noses brushing. They’re still watching each other, eyes locked, neither willing to break it. He leans forward a bit, trying to reach her, but she just leans back in return, finding it’s her turn to grin at him now as he whines, letting him suffer a little. Her free hand plays with the hem of his shirt absently.

“Just one kiss?” she asks, forehead still pressed again his, eyes lidded.

“If one is enough for yo—” his voice drops off at the end as she lets her fingers brush the smooth skin at his waist just underneath his shirt, his skin warm against her cool fingers. He glances down at her hand for a moment, the slightest tinge of red rising to his cheeks. She splays her fingers against his stomach, watching the way his eyes widen ever so slightly as her fingers slowly inch upwards, dragging his shirt little by little, brushing against his navel.

“Well, in that case,” she breathes, moving away so that she’s sitting lower, slinging one leg over him so that she’s straddling his hips. She brings her other hand up, pressing both hands against the soft skin under his shirt, feeling lean muscle beneath her fingers, running her hands along his sides, slowly pushing his shirt up and exposing the skin there. She leans down, just barely letting her nose touch his abdomen, her breath ghosting along his skin. She feels his breath stutter slightly, and she glances up under her eyelashes, taking in how wide his eyes are on her, the fact that the light dusting of red on his cheeks just a few moments earlier has erupted into a full-blown blush. Her grin is somewhat feral, and she revels in the effect she’s having on him before bringing her attention back to what she’s doing. She’s got his shirt up to his sternum, her fingers dancing lightly across his ribs, counting them, feeling the way his breathing quickens slightly beneath her touch as she blows a light puff of air across his chest. She glances up again, looking for any sign that he’s uncomfortable or wants her to stop, but his eyes are glued to her, pupils slightly blown, blush fanned out across his cheeks, lips slightly parted, and _how can one person look so absolutely gorgeous_. He blinks at her, a small confirmation that this is okay, that she doesn’t have to stop, that he is alright with this, that she can _keep fucking going, Jesus don’t stop now_.

With that confirmation, she sits up slightly and readjusts so that she’s straddling his waist, hands working his shirt up farther, fingers brushing over his heartbeat. _His is beating as hard as mine is._ Carefully, she pulls the shirt over his head, and he lifts himself enough that she can easily get it off him, discarding the article of clothing on the ground. His hands settle themselves on her waist, fingertips just finding skin under her t-shirt. She continues touching him, mapping out every inch of his chest and abdomen, committing it to memory. Somehow, he doesn’t have a single blemish on him, his skin soft and unmarked beneath her fingers. His muscles are lean, not bulky or built, and she traces her fingers across them, finding the ridges and dips. Not for the first time, she wonders how he isn’t a model.

She leans back down, her lips almost touching his chest, her breathing soft against his skin. She’s hovering over right where she smacked him, the skin there just barely tinted red (though she has a feeling that has less to do with the light hit and more to do with the blush steadily spreading down his neck). Softly, she presses her lips to the spot, watching his face as she does so. He swallows thickly, eyes on her, his cheeks and neck perfectly flushed, and she knows she’s got him wrapped around her little finger right now. She trails her way up, planting soft little kisses along his chest, his shoulder, his neck, that soft spot just behind his ear that makes his breathing hitch every single time. His skin is warm against her lips, soft, and she moves back to his neck to taste his pulse, eliciting a low, delicious moan from the back of his throat.

“What happened to ‘just one kiss’?” he breathes, and she manages to make him startle when she lightly nips his neck before pulling back a bit, looking down at him from a mere few inches away. She knows her face is probably about the same shade of red as his, judging by how warm she feels.

“Can’t help myself around you,” she says, bringing her lips down to meet his in a languid kiss. His fingers flex against the small of her back, fanning out across her skin. There’s something about his touch that lights her nerve endings on fire, and all she wants is to let the flames consume her. He hums into her mouth, and she takes that as a signal to pull back for a second, putting a hairs-width of air between them.

“My turn?” he asks, his voice husky, his half-closed eyes looking up to meet hers. It takes her a moment to realize what he’s asking, and she sits back up a bit before nodding her head, giving him permission, biting her lip.

His hands slowly wander up her back, fingertips feather-light beneath her shirt, tracing up her spine, making her shudder. She closes her eyes and doesn’t move from where she’s leaning over him, his hands slowly traveling up towards her shoulders, fingers smooth against her skin, brushing momentarily over her bra clasp as he works his way up, hiking her shirt up.

His touch is soft, almost reverent, intimate in a way that makes her wonder when they ever got this close. She’s never let someone in the way she’s let Adrien into her life, especially not this fast. They’ve been together, what, almost two months now? The last person she had let touch her like this, they had been together for six. It’s strange in a way that makes her head buzz, wondering why everything is so easy with Adrien. She’s never felt connected to another person in the same way that she’s felt with him, as if they’ve known each other for years. And this level of comfort, this ease she feels with him, doesn’t concern her one bit. It’s almost like he’s the first breath of fresh air she’s had in years, and she just can’t stop breathing him in.

Her shirt quickly joins his on the floor, and the rest is history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY HELL THAT GOT A BIT HOTTER THAN I HAD EXPECTED
> 
> But, that will literally be the most NSFW I will get, which really isn't that out there. It's something I'm barely (and I mean BARELY) comfortable writing. Literally, the second half of this took me two whole days to write and fix before I had it where I liked it. But yeah, pretty SFW if you ask me... But, someone let me know if you think it was "too risque", and I can change the rating on this... I think it's fine, honestly, but please tell me if you feel differently... I don't want anyone to feel uncomfortable due to a faulty rating... :\
> 
> (Also, yes, they totally did it... Heehee :3 )
> 
> ANYWAYS...
> 
> Yeah, I had some random guy loudly chewing on tobacco (people loudly chewing on stuff is LITERALLY one of my biggest pet peeves because come ON it's so gross... Ewwwww) come up with his friends, needlessly pester me by making me enter in multiple numbers he KNEW wouldn't work, then ask for my number. It was all very annoying, and he honestly thought he was a smooth MF... I wasn't having it. Sent him right on his way... May have been a little short with him, but frankly, he was annoying me, and I don't owe him crap... Not about to deal with that... "Oh! Let me annoy you by forcing you to enter in multiple numbers into this stupid system as if that will impress you all while smacking my gums over this disgusting chewing tobacco! That'll work!" Yeeeeeeah no thanks...
> 
> But yeah, now you've heard the two stories of guys hitting on me while I worked at the theater. (Why is it always the weird ones... D: ). I'm still deciding which story I'm going to write about for the next chapter... I've got three more theater stories on my list, so unless I can think of anymore, I might have three more chapters up my sleeve... But I'm not setting a chapter number yet until I'm sure...
> 
> For Marinette's little dress design in the beginning of the chapter, I was thinking of something along these lines for shape (http://weheartit.com/entry/group/45729405), but in red instead of black, and without the rhinestones... Basically, the higher collar with the sheer top piece. Instead of the rhinestones, I was thinking some kind of black embroidery of a simple pattern made to mimic spots without actually BEING spots... Idk... Not even sure I have a clear picture in my head of what this is supposed to look like... I just like cracking the fourth wall a little... (Adrien offering to invest in a staff, anyone???)
> 
> As always, comment to let me know what you think! I love hearing from you all! :D


	7. Chapter 7

_I’m going back to school in three weeks._

The thought hits Marinette like a ton of bricks in the middle of her concession shift. Her last customer, a man probably in his early thirties, was wearing a shirt with her university’s logo on it. Of course she’d asked him about it, had shared that she is currently going to that same school and will be going back in the Fall semester. He’d been friendly, had inquired about her major and wished her luck on her studies before walking off with his medium popcorn and small drink in hand. But it had been what he’d said before walking off that had thrown her for a loop.

_“The fall semester is coming up pretty soon, right?”_

_“It starts on the first of September.”_

_“Wow. Only three weeks away. I bet you’re excited to be going back!”_

She had paused, eyebrows drawn together as she realized that, yes, the first of the month is only three weeks away. Which means that she needs to submit her one-week-notice next week so that she’ll have a week to pack. Which means that she’ll be leaving soon.

She has to leave this little life she just built for herself, just got comfortable with.

Summers never seem to last, as if every year she blinks and it’s over before it started, and she’s just heading back to school to begin another grueling semester. Not that she doesn’t love what she does; fashion design is one of the things she’s passionate about, and she wouldn’t do anything else with her life. But sometimes, it’s so easy to get caught up in her life back home and fall back into old rhythms. She meets up with her high school friends whenever they could all find time in their busy schedules (which, they’re meeting tonight for dinner after her shift). She got to spend quality time with her parents. Work at the theater became a habit she just got used to (even if she had to drag herself out of bed some mornings). Heck, she even made new friends here, swapping numbers with Nino and Alya both, promising to let them know anytime she was in town.

And Adrien…

Her time with Adrien was like a dream she never wants to wake up from.

He made her happy in a way that no one else had before, as if the outside world and its problems didn’t matter when they were together. Horrendous days at work could be forgotten with ease when they were cuddled up on his couch watching a movie. Stories about horrible customers could be shared over dinner with a laugh. It’s all so easy with him.

She’s going to miss him.

But, she has three whole weeks.

Three weeks more to enjoy his company before she’s heading back to school, hours away. And she’s not going to spend that time despairing over the fact. Hell no, she is going to make this work. It’s not like it’s the last time she’ll ever see him. They’ll make it work. Long distance isn’t impossible, and she’ll still come home on breaks and the occasional weekend. She’ll make it work.

If there’s one thing Marinette _isn’t_ , it’s a quitter.

Especially not when it’s over something she cares about.

And she cares about him. A lot.

She’ll make it work.

Marinette shakes herself out of her thoughts, plastering a smile back on, as the next customer approaches her register.

“Hello,” she greets the customer, a curly-haired woman with glasses sitting on the edge of her nose, probably around her mother’s age. “How can I help you?”

“Hi,” the woman says, smiling. “I’d like to do that deal over there.” The woman motions towards the decorative stand-up on the beverage fridge. Marinette knows what deal she’s referencing, having had multiple customers ask about the same colorful advertisement.

“The ‘Two-For-Six’ deal?” Marinette asks, just to confirm that they are on the same page. The deal advertises any two items on the list can be purchased for six euros, which is a good deal considering most items on the list are normally four or five euros each.

“Yes, that,” the woman nods her head.

“Well, just so you know, in order to be eligible for that deal, you have to purchase a combo number one or two,” Marinette informs her, knowing that most customers miss that small-print at the bottom of the sign. The woman glances up at the menu, seeming to contemplate her options.

“I’ll do a number one with it, then,” the woman says.

“Alright,” Marinette says, entering the item into her computer. “That’s a large popcorn and a large drink. What two items would you like for your ‘two-for-six’?”

“The hot dog and the pretzel,” the lady says.

“Okay,” Marinette enters the information into her computer, making sure to add on the deal discount. “Is that all for you?”

“That’s all.”

“Then that will be twenty-six forty-five,” Marinette says.

“What?” the woman asks, shocked. “Why is it so much?”

“Well, the number one is twenty euros, and the—”

“I don’t want a number one,” she says, dumbfounded. “I just want the two-for-six deal.”

“In order to get the two-four-six deal, you have to get a number one or number two,” Marinette reminds her.

“But I don’t want that,” the woman says. “Take it off.”

“Okay,” Marinette says, deleting the item, and the deal automatically disappears with it. “But you won’t qualify for the deal anymore.”

“Why not?” the woman asks. Marinette looks back up at her, forcing her eyebrows to remain flat even though they want to draw together.

“The deal only works if you get a number one or number two with it,” Marinette repeats, a bit slower this time.

“Oh, that’s alright,” the woman says. “Just take it off.”

“Alright then. Your new total is eight thirty-six.”

“But the sign says it’s only six euros,” the woman says. Marinette barely stops herself from showing her shock. _This woman can’t be serious._

“You don’t qualify for that deal anymore,” Marinette says carefully, trying to figure out where the miscommunication must be happening.

“Well why not?” the woman demands, obviously getting annoyed. _Shouldn’t I be the one getting annoyed? Not her?_

“Like I said,” Marinette says, articulating each word clearly so she can’t be misheard. “In order to qualify for the two-for-six deal, you have to purchase a number one or number two combo. Then, the two items of your choice will go on for an additional six euros.”

“That’s not what it says on the sign there,” the woman says, motioning behind her.

“It’s in the smaller print below the deal,” Marinette says.

“Oh,” the woman says. “Well, I want the deal, so I guess I’ll do a number one with it.”

“Okay,” Marinette enters the items back into the computer, adding the deal back on. “That will bring your total back to twenty-six forty-five.”

“That’s too much,” the woman says, exasperated. “You said it would be six euros.”

“The hot dog and the pretzel are six euros,” Marinette says, using all her willpower to not slam her head on the counter. “The number one, which qualifies you for the deal, is twenty euros.”

“But I don’t want a number one,” the woman says.

Marinette takes a deep breath in, convincing herself that homicide isn’t worth it.

“Can I talk to a manager?” the woman asks.

Alya, in all her amazing-ness, chooses that moment to come up behind Marinette, having just been checking inventory in the candy room.

“Anything I can help out with?” Alya asks her.

“Yes, actually,” Marinette sighs. “This customer wants to speak with you.”

“How can I help?” Alya addresses the woman.

“I’m just confused about this whole ‘two-for-six’ deal,” the woman says.

“Oh, well basically, you can get any two items on that list behind you for six additional euros when you buy a combo number one or two,” Alya says. _Which is exactly what I said._

“Oh!” the woman exclaims. “Now I understand! Well in that case, I’d like a small popcorn.”

Marinette’s jaw hits the floor, and she decides to take her break shortly thereafter.

* * *

 

The sun has long since sunken below the horizon, bringing out twinkling stars and a waxing moon. Marinette sits at her desk, hunched over her as she works the fabric in her hands, her movements illuminated by her desk lamp and casting shadows on the far wall. Her earbuds fit snugly in her ears, though no music plays through them tonight.

She jumps when she pricks her finger on the needle again, bringing the digit to her mouth and sucking on it to try and prevent it from bleeding.

“You poked yourself again, didn’t you?” Adrien’s voice fills her ears, his breathy chuckle just audible through her earbuds. Marinette doesn’t respond, trying to convince herself that it’s because she currently has her pointer finger in her mouth and has nothing to do with that bit of stubborn indignation that flits inside her chest because of how he says the word “again”.  She’s only done it six times tonight!

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” she drawls after she pulls her finger out of her mouth and inspects it, glad to see that there’s no lasting damage.

“Oh dear, and here I was worried that I would have to call the paramedics because My Lady pricked her finger on a needle!” Adrien exclaims, and Marinette can all but picture him pressing the back of his hand to his head, pretending to faint like the drama queen that he is. The image makes her snort.

“You’re damn lucky you’re cute,” she says, resuming her work, the needle piercing the red fabric, “or I would have dumped your ridiculous ass two months ago.”

“Aw, did you just call me cute?” he sings. _Smug bastard._

“I’m starting to regret it,” she says, drawing the needle and thread up through the fabric. He just chuckles in response, letting a comfortable silence stretch across the phone-line. She considers getting out her sewing machine, knowing it would make this process much faster. But a part of her likes doing it by hand, knowing each stitch was done with care with her own two hands. There’s something more personal about it.

“How was your dinner with your friends?” he asks.

“It was nice,” she says, and she means it. She always enjoys getting together with Mylene, Rose, and Juleka, especially at their favorite sushi place. It’s always so nice to just catch up and see how everyone’s busy lives are going. Mylene is considering getting a part-time job (and Marinette offered to talk to Alya for her if she wanted). Rose and Juleka were officially a couple now (which was not shocking in the slightest). Rose has been working at a make-up store for a while, and she loves it. Juleka is focusing on her studies for now, still searching for a major that interests her. Mylene talks about her “failing love-life”, as she calls it, upset over the fact that the few dates she has gone on recently all end horribly and that none of the guys she’s dated seem to be working out. Marinette had brought up Ivan, the boy that used to go to school with them who is now working at the theater with her. The boy whom Mylene had harbored a bit of a crush on in high school. The girl had gone absolutely scarlet, leading to an uproar of laughter all around the table.

It had been a fun night.

But still, a part of her felt a bit off about the entire thing.

“Just nice?” Adrien prompts, as if he could read her thoughts.

“I just…” she sighs, fingers still stitching away. “I feel like we’re becoming different people, you know? I went off to college, they all stayed here, and I feel like I’m changing because of it, and it just… We were so close in high school, and now…” She doesn’t know how to explain it, letting the sentence die off. She knows she’s grown quite a bit in her time at college, has matured and maybe even changed in some ways. She doesn’t know how that fits in with her old friends here, how this new part of her will fit in the group dynamic. “I feel like I’m trying to be my old self around them, like we were in high school, but I don’t really feel like I’m that person anymore? Like, I know I’m a bit different than I was before I went away, and I feel like that changed part of me doesn’t really fit anymore. I catch myself acting differently around them than I do with my friends at the college, and it’s weird. I don’t know how to explain it…”

“You feel like two different people with your two sets of friends?” he supplies.

“Sort-of,” she says, still stitching. “I guess that would be the best way to put it. I just feel like I’m still trying to be the same person I was before, because that’s the part of me they know, and that just feels wrong in a way. It’s not like I’m trying to be a completely different person or selling myself short or anything. It’s just as if I fall back into a certain role when I’m with them, but that person just isn’t me anymore, and I don’t know how to fix that.” She sighs again, setting the needle down to rub at the pressure beneath her eyes before continuing her sewing. “I just feel like we’re growing apart, and I hate it because I love them so much. But I don’t know what to do about it, and part of me just feels like this was inevitable anyways, considering I’m only able to get with them a couple times a year, and we don’t really chat over the phone anymore or anything. I thought these would be the people I would share the rest of my life with, but now… Now I’m afraid we’ll just become strangers in the end. And I _hate_ that.” She didn’t realize she was crying until the first tears start rolling down her cheeks, and she quickly wipes them away, sniffling in the process. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to just dump that on you,” she chuckles, though it sounds watery to her ears. Her fingers keep stitching away. “I’ve just been thinking about it a lot—”

“Don’t apologize,” he says. “Please don’t. I’m glad you want to tell me these things. I really am. Do you want to hear my two-cents?”

“I would appreciate it,” she smiles.

“You know when you’re working concession,” he says, “and you have different ways of talking to different kinds of customers? Like, with the friendly ones, you can be really open and comfortable almost, but with the rude ones, you’re really closed off and cautious.”

“Yeah,” she says, still swiping at her cheeks to wipe away tears, still working the fabric in her hands.

“Well, it’s the same way with the people around you,” he says. “You act differently with different people, and that’s completely fine and one-hundred-percent normal. I mean, do you treat your mom the same way you treat me?”

“Of course not!” she laughs, voice cracking slightly.

“Well, you act differently with different groups, largely depending on the role you fill in that group. It’s not bad or anything; it’s just how socialization works.”

“But that doesn’t help with the fact that I feel like I’m losing them,” she says.

“Look, I…” he breathes, and there’s a pause, like he’s choosing his next words carefully. “I know it feels crappy, feeling like you’re growing apart from people you care about. But it happens sometimes, you know? Sometimes you grow up to be different people, and you go in different directions, and it’s not always a bad thing? Like, you have to be you, and you have to go and become whoever you’re supposed to be, and sometimes people you care about wind up taking a path that leads them in the other direction. Maybe you won’t spend the rest of your life with that person, but you still spent a part of your life with them, and that’s something you can cherish for the rest of your life, you know? If you care about them, they obviously left some kind of mark on you and your life, and odds are high that you’ll always have that little bit of them with you. You just have to be thankful for the time you did have together, and if you do grow apart, then you just remember that time and be thankful that you got to share even a small bit of your life with them. I know it’s sad, and I wouldn’t expect you to take the feeling of drifting apart from someone lightly. It sucks, big time. But, I guess it helps to just remember why that person was important to you, even if they don’t fill that role anymore. Does that make any sense?”

She takes a moment to let his words sink in, really sift them around a bit. What he had said definitely hurt a bit. A part of her had almost wanted him to say that she was being silly, that of course she would always be friends with them. But that would be unrealistic, and she appreciates that he told her exactly what he thinks instead of just saying what would make her happy. But it did hurt, his words ringing true. But it also leaves her with a small bit of comfort, a bit of assurance that her friends would always be a part of her, even if they drifted apart. But she’s definitely crying now, silent tears cascading down her cheeks.

“God, I just made it worse didn’t I? I’m sorry Bugaboo. Just forget everything I said. I don’t—”

“No no,” she stops him, sniffling. “No you’re right. You’re right. I just… It hurts, and I’m just dealing with that right now. But you’re right, and that actually makes me feel a bit better, so—Ow!” A sharp jab of the needle into her finger makes her jump, and she drops the needle and shakes her hand. “God damn that _hurt_.” This one drew blood, and she quickly sticks her finger in her mouth to try to stop the bleeding, the habit probably not the most sanitary thing ever, but still efficient. The pain is enough to drive her away from the conversation at hand, leaving it to be considered at another time in the near future. Probably while nursing a gallon of ice cream. Adrien’s soft laugh pulls her back. She takes her finger back out her mouth, flexing the digit carefully.

“I think you should call it a night,” Adrien says gently. “It’s getting late.”

“But it’s only…” she presses the wake-up button on her phone, which proudly displays the time as… “oh.”

“’Oh’ is right,” he says, and she can hear the smile in his voice. “Go to bed, Mari. You’ve had a long night.”

“I guess,” she says, tying off the thread and snipping the excess, breathing through her sniffles as she wipes away the few remaining tears. “I’m done with what I wanted to get done tonight anyways.”

“Please tell me what you’re working on!” he begs.

“I told you it’s a surprise!” she says, holding up the semi-finished product to examine her work. _Next she just needs to do the detail work…_ “You know I could keep working, get some of the—”

“Bed, now!” Adrien demands, and she just snorts.

“Yes mom,” she jokes, phone in hand as she shuts off her desk lamp and wanders over to her bed, the phone screen providing just enough light to lead the way. “Why are you up so late anyways?”

“I’m talking to you,” he says frankly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I didn’t want to keep you up! You have work in the morning!”

“It was my choice to stay up, Princess. I love listening to your voice.”

“You’re such a sap,” she says, settling into her bed.

“I’m _your_ sap,” he corrects her.

“That you are.” She lays down, earbuds still in her ears, smile pulling at her lips. But a single thought replaces it with a frown, completely hidden by the darkness of her room, but all too clear in its intent. “Adrien, can I ask you a serious question?”

“Ask away, Buginette.” She takes a deep breath, steeling herself.

“We’re not going to grow apart, are we?”

Silence. Deafening silence so loud that it makes her heart pound harder in her ribcage.

“I mean,” she goes on, “I’m leaving in a few weeks. Three to be exact. And I’m afraid that when I’m gone… That we’ll… I don’t know… I really care about you. I mean, I _really_ care about you, more than any other guy I’ve been with before. And I’m scared that, while I’m gone, we’ll grow into different people, and I don’t _want_ that to happen. I want to see where this goes, to keep going with it. But if I’m hours away… Does long distance really work? I’ve seen so many amazing relationships get destroyed by that distance, and I don’t want to see that happen to what we have right now. I’m _happy_ with what we have right now. I don’t want to lose it, and I’m afraid that…”

She’s rambling, and she knows it. But part of her just wants to fill that silence on the other end of the line, to convince herself that they’ll make this work even though she’s just listing reasons why it won’t. She wants him to stop her, to tell her she’s being ridiculous.

_Is three months even a long enough relationship to survive that?_

_Is it even that long of a relationship?_

_Is this just a summer fling and nothing more?_

_Where will we be at the end of these three weeks?_

_Is there a future for this?_

_Do I love him?_

_Does he love me?_

“… Adrien?”

Silence. Blaring silence. But he’s still there, she can just make out his breathing, and she forces herself to stop, to let him think, to not jump to every conclusion in the book because he might be thinking the exact same things she’s thinking. She lets the silence stretch, listening to his breath against the microphone, imagining he was here, lying next to her.

_Is this what it’s going to be like after I leave?_

And then, softly, carefully…

“I can’t pretend to know where this is going to take us.” She almost has to strain to hear him. “But… I want it to last too. And… if you are, I’m willing to fight to make it work, if that’s what it takes… I care about you, Mari. So much. I’ve never… Felt this way before… This feels real… And I want it to work… I _really_ do… I can’t… I don’t _want_ to imagine the possibility of us growing apart… I _want_ to follow this through, so what we… To be with you… I…”

He trails off, his breathing hitching, and she’s crying again, but this time…

“Adrien?”

“Yeah?”

A pause, listening as he tries to pull himself back together, as she builds up the courage to say it because she _means_ it. She _does_. She knows that now. Knows that she has to tell him, that she wants him to hear it.

It’s barely a whisper…

“I love you.”

His breathing stops for a moment, and part of Marinette wants to scream and take it back, to snatch back that vulnerability and shove it back down deep. But she wants him to know, because it’s the truth. She loves him, and she’s afraid of losing him, and she cares about him so much, and she doesn’t care if he says it back or not because all that matters is that he _knows_ —

“I love you too.”

It’s so soft that she almost misses it. But then she’s smiling, tears still pouring down her face, soaking her pillow, and she doesn’t think she’ll be able to stop smiling for a week.

_I love you too._

_He loves me too._

“We’re gonna make this work, okay?” he says, voice soft, gentle, sure. It makes her heart flutter. “You and me. We’re gonna make this work.”

“Okay,” she says, just as softly, like they’re sharing a secret. And maybe that’s what it is. A secret that is kept between them, a promise.

“Now get some sleep. We’ll talk more after my shift tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good night, Bugaboo.”

“Good night, mon Minou.”

“Sweet dreams.”

The line goes dead several seconds later. She doesn’t move to take out the ear buds. She just lays there, staring into her dark room, letting it all hit her at once.

_I love him._

_He loves me too._

_We’re going to make this work._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *INSERT PTERODACTYL SCREECHING NOISES*
> 
> The "L word" was supposed to happen next chapter but it snuck its way into this one whoooooops... Funny how that happens... Also I sorta feel like this story is more Adrienette fluff than retail stories anymore... Like, the Adrienette in this chapter was literally double the length of the retail-story part of it... (Not a bad thing... Lol).
> 
> So, two things about this chapter:  
> 1) The lady with the stupid 2-for-6 deal... Oh my god... I swear I went back and forth with her for about 5 minutes before my manager just happened to come over... And then my manager said EXACTLY what I had been saying, and the woman finally got it... And then decided she just wanted a small popcorn... I just.......... Ughhhhh... People... I swear...  
> 2) The whole thing with Marinette and her friends... Honestly, that's how I feel with my high school friends sometimes. I love them to pieces, and I love getting together with them, but a part of me always feels like we're becoming different people. And it sucks because it feels like we're growing apart. But then Adrien went and spouted some words of wisdom there (and honestly, writing that out helped me sort out a few of my thoughts about the whole thing too). So I guess that's sorta how I feel about it all. It sucks, but it happens, and you just have to remember that those people will always be close to your heart, and that you just need to enjoy your time with people while you can.
> 
> So much paaaaaaaaaain... But also so much FLUFF!!! Bwahaha...
> 
> Now, general PSA time... I've got two more chapters left to write, then this story will be done (so, I'm looking at a total of nine chapters, which is a little frustrating in its own right (10 is an even number grrrr), but that's the story I have left to tell). So, be on the look-out for the last two chapters... I'm on Spring Break right now, so I MIGHT be able to get out one more chapter this week. Depends on how long I decide to procrastinate on my homework... Hehe...
> 
> (Also look at that!!! I'm updating at a time that isn't in the middle of the night!!! Wow!!!)
> 
> As always, comment and let me know what you guys think! :D


	8. Chapter 8

It’s her last time behind the register, and it almost feels unreal.

Her last day.

It’s surreal, in a way. The entire day, she swore she’d just magically wake up in her bed, and the whole thing would be a dream, and it would be the first day of summer again. The pale greens and yellows on the trees would be vivid greens once again, and the crisp bite to the air would be wet with summer showers. She’d spend the morning lounging on her balcony, caring for her plants and leafing through the newest issue of Vogue magazine before heading out to her interview (with Alya, none-the-less) at the theater. Now look at her, almost crying when Alya clocks out for the day and tells her goodbye, wishes her luck with her studies, tells her to keep in touch, wraps her in a tight hug. It was the first of many goodbyes to come that day.

And her day is almost over.

It’s ten minutes before concession closes, and she and Nino are almost done with the front-of-house clean-up. All of the candy racks have been moved back, the counters have been wiped, the drink dispensers she isn’t using have been washed, and one of the two condiment stands have been packed away and cleaned. She’s in the middle of sweeping the floor behind the registers and Nino’s started cleaning the fryer when she sees them, a shorter man (maybe in his fifties) and his two teenage sons, heading towards the concession counter. She sets the broom against the counter and waves them over to her register.

“Good evening. How can I help you, gentlemen?” she says casually. She’s in a bit of a good mood, if she’s being honest. Maybe she’s finally having the reaction that most normal people have on their last day of work.

“You guys want Cokes, right?” the man addresses the two boys with him, his voice raspy. The two teenagers tell him yes, glancing at the display case filled with decorative candy boxes in front of Marinette’s register. “Then we’ll do three medium Cokes,” the man says. Marinette enters the items into her register and then turns around to start filling the drinks, using two Coke dispensers at the same time to go faster.

“What movie are you guys going to see?” she turns and asks them, deciding to be friendly.

“Some stupid chick movie these two wanted to see,” the dad rasps, rolling his eyes. Marinette’s brow scrunches, not sure what movie the man is referring to.

“Can you tell him that ‘Bad Moms’ isn’t a bad movie?” one of the sons asks Marinette. She suddenly understands what’s going on.

“I don’t know why you boys want to see this stupid movie,” the dad says.

“I didn’t personally see it,” Marinette says over her shoulder as she puts lids on the first two Cokes and starts the third one. “But my mom saw it. And she’s not normally into movies like that, but she liked it.” The two sons pointedly look at the older man.

“Well then, your mom is weak,” the man says, almost off-handedly. The statement takes Marinette aback.

“Excuse me?” she asks, unsure if she misheard.

“I said your mom is weak if she likes a sissy-movie like that,” he says, serious as a grave. Marinette almost gapes at the man, completely stunned. He wasn’t even joking; he meant exactly what he said. She looks away, shaking her head slightly as she puts a lid on the third drink. _Did he just insult her mother, a women he’s never met, over a movie preference? Did he just call her Maman, probably one of the strongest women she knows, weak?_ She sets the drink on the counter, and the man casually looks down at the candy display, seeming to believe he hasn’t said anything wrong. The two sons seem apologetic, and Marinette almost sees red.

“Well, I’ll have you know that anyone can attest to the fact that my mother would probably kick your butt if you said that to her face,” Marinette says, letting her tone seem joking enough as to not be threatening.

“I doubt that,” he says, still looking at the display. Marinette suddenly gets a beautiful picture of her Maman suplexing this jerk. It’s enough to stop her from beating the shit out of him herself. “Also, can I have some of these Sour Skittles?”

“Yep, let me go grab some from the back room,” she grits her teeth, smiling. She turns on her heel and walks briskly away, but before she’s more than a few meters away, she hears the man speak to the other two boys.

“Does she _have to_ go all the way to the back? There’s candy in the display right here!” he grumbles, almost seeming annoyed. He’s talking about the decorative display in front of her register, of course. The keyword here is “decorative”. The boxes have been there long enough that they don’t even sell some of the candies in the display anymore, so it’s been at least a few years since someone has opened it up.

_Idiot just doesn’t know when to shut his mouth._

Marinette spends the next thirty seconds grabbing the bag of candy from the back and deciding how to approach the entire situation. Does she just let it go and pretend like this asshole wasn’t ticking her off? Does she act like he didn’t insult her mother over something as stupid as a movie and then imply that she herself is an idiot? She’s not the kind of person to explode at someone, especially over something as stupid as this. But, at the same time, she doesn’t want to let this asshole go without at least a little embarrassment.

It’s her last day. Who gives a shit.

She comes back to the three guys and sets the candy down on the counter next to her register, looking the older man dead in the eye with the biggest shit-eating-grin she can muster.

“Just so you know,” she says, “the candy in the display is probably around three years old and is simply for display. But, if you would prefer that candy, I’m sure I could get it for you instead. I figured you would rather candy that isn’t disgusting or rotten, but please correct me if I’m wrong.”

It’s a small thing, a tiny act of retaliation. But, it’s also the smallest correction to the bullshit statement “the customer is always right”, and it’s enough to make the man blink at her in confusion, seeming to realize he wasn’t as quiet in his idiotic criticism as he thought he was. It’s the best “fuck you” she can pull without seeming actively aggressive, so she’ll live with it. The stupefied look on his face makes the entire thing worth it.

“Your total is eighteen euros.”

* * *

 

“He said that? You have to be shittin’ me.”

“I shit you not. And he was absolutely serious.”

“Wow.”

“I know, right?” Marinette rounds the next aisle of the store, Adrien’s fingers interlaced with hers as she pulls him along.

“Sabine would have ripped him apart,” he chuckles. Marinette nods her head in agreement, once again recalling the image of her Maman slamming the man back on his head. Of course, she wouldn’t _actually_ kick the man’s ass. But, even though her Maman is small in stature, the woman is imposing and can hold her own when she wants to. Anyone that knows her knows better than to go up against Mama Cheng in an argument and expect to win. Her Maman is a strong, independent woman, and Marinette has always looked up to her and aspired to be just like her.

“Honestly, I should have just given him the display candy,” Marinette says, glancing at the products lined up on the aisle. _Speakers. Radios. Still the wrong aisle._ “Would have been funnier.”

“Nah, you played it well,” Adrien says as they round the next corner to go up the next aisle. “I would have loved to see that asshole’s face, though.”

“It was pretty good,” Marinette admits. “He was a little flustered that he got caught and called out on being an ass.” _Webcams. Bingo!_ She pulls them to a stop, facing the assortment of cameras displayed on the shelf. “Alright. Pick your favorite!”

“Oh God,” he sighs, looking them over. “Aren’t they all basically the same?”

“Are you kidding!” she exclaims, grabbing the first two off the shelf. “Look at this one. It has eight megapixels and only twenty frames per second, while this one has fifteen megapixels and thirty frames per second. That’s a huge difference!”

“Yeah, but that second one is one-hundred euros,” he says. Marinette glances down at the price tag, grimaces, and then carefully places that box back on the shelf.

“But you get the point!” she says. “We have to get you a nice one! This is going to be our main form of communication for the foreseeable future! Do you really want me to be stuck watching some gross, grainy, over-saturated video of you?”

“Is ten frames per second _really_ going to make that big of a difference?” he groans. She puts the other webcam down.

“You’d be surprised,” she shrugs. She picks up another cam, this one a bit more moderately priced, and skims over the details on the box. “Look, this one can rotate all the way around, and it has decent resolution. The frames per second are a little low, but it’s got a nice built-in microphone. What do you think?” She turns to hand him the box, but he’s standing back with his arms crossed, watching her with an appreciative smile. “What?”

“You’re cute when you’re thinking really hard,” he says. She kicks his shoe, fighting the blush rising to her cheeks.

“Don’t kid yourself. I’m cute all the time,” she brags, cheeks still warm as she shoves the box into his hands. “Come on. I want you to pick one that you like.”

“I like all of the ones that won’t cost me half of my paycheck,” he deadpans. “Past that, it’s up to you.”

“Why are you so difficult?” she groans, going back to look at the boxes. About five of them seem decently priced while also being a decent quality. But beyond that, it becomes a game of give-and-take. Some have better upload speed while others have better resolution. Some have higher frame rates while others have better focus. She has no idea how to weigh it all in her head. It all seems important. Maybe they should ask someone for help…

“I like this one,” he says, waving around the one that she handed him.

“You’re just saying that,” she says, still contemplating her options.

“Maybe,” he concedes, his arms wrapping around her waist from behind, the webcam in his hand resting against her hip. His lips touch the shell of her ear. “Maybe I just have other _activities_ I would rather be doing right now while I still can.”

“Someone’s _eager_ ,” she laughs, turning around in his arms and tilting her head up to look him in the eye.

“Forgive me, My Lady, but I simply _can’t_ control myself around you,” he says dramatically, eyes full of mischief. “Pardon me if I am distracted by your presence alone.”

“Well,” she says, glancing down at his lips and then back up, pouting her lip in the way she knows he likes since it usually gets her kissed. It gives the desired effect, as his smile stretches into something a bit smugger. “I guess there are certain _activities_ I would like to be doing too,” she purrs, shifting forward and lifting her chin. He tilts down, moving in to meet her halfway.

Only before his lips can touch hers, she presses her finger to his nose and pushes him away, smirking when his eyes cross to look at her finger in confusion.

“But first, you need a webcam,” she says, stepping out of his grasp before taking her finger back. He squints at her, his nose scrunching in distaste. He just manages to look like an offended kitten, so she ‘boops’ him on the nose with a giggle, taking the webcam back out of his hands. “So, did you decide on one, _mon chaton_?”

“Yep,” he announces, and then his arms are back around her again. Only this time, he hoists her up and slings her over his shoulder, earning him a squeak of surprise. She only has a moment to comprehend the situation before he wraps his arm around her legs and proceeds to strut down the aisle while holding her like a sack of flour.

“Adrien! Put me down!” she cries, laughing while lamely kicking her legs and hitting his back. Her pleas fall on deaf ears as he heads towards the check-out, the webcam still clutched in her hands. “Come on! Adrien! People are looking!”

“Nothing to see here!” he calls, making her face flush in embarrassment. She droops down and hides her face in her hands. “Just a guy hauling his hot girlfriend to the check-out aisle to buy a webcam! Please go about your business!”

“Oh my God, I’m going to kill you,” she groans.

“You started it.”

* * *

 

In bed later that night, with the sheets pulled up to protect them from the cold and the lights dimmed, Marinette lays tucked against Adrien’s side, her finger drawing vague shapes on his bare chest as he absentmindedly twirls a strand of her hair.

“So, we’ll video-chat at least once a week,” Adrien says. She feels his voice reverberate through his chest, the vibrations echoing through her. “And you can basically count on a text or call from me at least every night, even if it’s just to say good night. And I’ll try to come up to see you at least once.”

“Just give me a week’s notice so I can warn my roommates,” she says, her fingers still tracing shapes. _Four days before I have to leave. In four days, I’ll be hours away._

“Right, will do,” he says. “And let me know which weekends would be good for you. I don’t want to come up and distract you when you’re studying for an exam or something. Your classes are important, and I don’t want to get in the way of that.”

“I know,” she says. _Where did all the time go?_ She wants to scream, to ask how he’s acting so calm about all of this. _How does he seem so okay when I’m about to go away for such a long time?_ Her chest constricts, but she breathes it away, focusing on her finger as it traces a circle, spiraling around and around and around…

“I’m also going to see about getting some time off during your winter break so that we can spend some time together while you’re home. Though, just let me know if you have other plans or something, because I understand, of course. I—”

She doesn’t want to cry. Not like this. Lord, she cries every time she has to leave home to go to college, and she doesn’t want to do it now. Not in front of him, not during what will probably be the last time she’ll see him in person for a while.

_It’s not forever._

_But it’s still a long time._

“Adrien?” she says softly, squeezing her eyes shut for a quick moment to ward off the tears.

“Yeah?” he asks, his head shifting on the pillow.

“Can we talk about this later?” she asks, voice just barely shaking.

_It’s not forever. It’s_ not _forever. Stop pretending like you’ll never see him again. It’ll be a few weeks at most. You can handle a few weeks._

_Or a few months._

_Why does that feel like an eternity?_

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Sorry,” he stutters, his fingers automatically moving up to tangle in her hair. Her hand that was tracing circles on his chest wraps around his side, pulling him closer, wishing she could stay like this forever.

_Two-hundred miles away. In just four days, I’ll be two-hundred miles away._

His fingers lightly card through her hair, rubbing comforting circles on her scalp.

_I’m_ not _going to cry._

_I’m_ not _going to cry._

_I’m_ not _._

* * *

 

“I’m gonna miss you, Adrien.”

“I’m gonna miss you too, Bugaboo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooooooooooooooooo yeah... So much for getting this posted last week while I was still on break... Funny enough, I had this finished last Saturday, but I finished it at, like, 3am... And I was NOT going to post it without reading through it again for mistakes (which, I make plenty of when I write at 3am)... So, my plan was to post it Sunday night when I got back to university... And then life happened, and here I am now, a week later, having gone through 3 horrible exams and not sleeping as much as I would like... BUT I'M ALIVE SO IN THE END IT'S A WIN IN MY BOOK!
> 
> So, here's another chapter, a bit later than expected, but FLUFFY AS HELL!
> 
> Yes, on my last day, I had some guy tell me that my mom was "soft" (the exact word he used) and then basically call me an idiot and get annoyed because I didn't get him 3-year-old candy out of the display case... And I also had a "fuck it" moment and said what Mari said... It's not the most horrible thing I could have done, but it felt nice to be snarky towards an asshole customer. Almost therapeutic... Wish I had done it sooner...
> 
> Also Adrien is a suggestive little shit and Mari loves toying with him because of it...
> 
> And yeah, Mari's little breakdown at the end there is 100% true about me. My entire freshman year and towards the beginning of my sophomore year, I would wind up crying for one reason or another every time I had to leave home... Mainly because I had to leave my mom (and 4 kitties), and because adult-ing is just depressing... But I'm better about it now and don't get upset anymore (look at me... showing character development!).
> 
> And I can attest that 3 hours is, in fact, a long way to travel for a one day trip, and is not very practical. Personal experience here... For those of you that have to go farther, I'm sorry...
> 
> ALSO, some of you may have noticed, but I upped it to 10 chapters (woo-hoo!!!) because I thought of something else to write. But THAT WILL BE IT I SWEAR!
> 
> As always, let me know what you guys think! I'll see you in the second-to-last chapter!


	9. Chapter 9

The first week of classes went by without a hitch.

As did the second.

And the third.

Before she knew it, Marinette found herself happily settled into her (almost) daily routine. Drag herself out of bed early in the morning (too early, always too early… why should anyone have to get up before the sun rises?). Get ready. Go to class. Eat lunch, sometimes with her roommate Mireille or friends from class. Go home. Work on homework for a while. Eat dinner. Work on some personal projects. Maybe go out with friends. Chat with Adrien on the phone or Skype. Go to bed. Repeat.

It was a simple cycle, one that she went through just about every day. Sure, getting up in the morning was hard, especially when her first professor of the day droned on and on about macroeconomics without any inflection what-so-ever (was he even capable of emotion? Marinette has no idea). But, she could at least look forward to her Design 1 class after lunch. Even if the projects sometimes seemed far-fetched or strange, she still felt like it was the class she got the most out of. And her professor, Mr. Agreste, ( _“No Marinette. I swear he’s not my dad. Agreste isn’t_ that _uncommon of a name!”_ ) was… something.

He wasn’t exactly nice, per say. In fact, he came off as rather cold and condescending most of the time. But, his designs were something miraculous. Never had Marinette seen someone manipulate colors and styles the way he did, creating something new and exciting seemingly without any effort.

She made a point to introduce herself on the first day of class, asking for some advice on one of her designs (not just _one_ of her designs; it was _the_ design). He had been critical, if even a little harsh, but he hadn’t been _cruel_. He had even gone so far as to compliment her progress and tell her that she was leaps and bounds ahead of some of her classmates already, commenting that she had an eye for design that many of her classmates wouldn’t be anywhere near until third year. She had been elated.

Now, she goes to him with all her designs, getting his opinion and critiques on every single one, jotting down his comments and thoughts for later reference. He has given her style tips and new techniques to try, and she honestly feels like she’s learning more through these times than she has in any class.

Tonight, she decided to pull out the needle and thread and make herself a new handbag, wanting to try out a new sewing technique Mr. Agreste had shown her.

“So it makes a flower pattern in the fabric?” Adrien asks, his voice a little tinny through her computer speakers, but still relatively clear. “Like needlework?”

“No no no. Look.” Marinette holds up the pink fabric to the camera, showing him the few iterations of the pattern she has done. “It folds the fabric a certain way to create the flower shape.”

“Oh,” Adrien says, his brows drawn together. “How does that work?”

“Well,” Marinette says, setting the fabric back down on her desk and tilting the camera down a bit so that he can see her hands as she works on the next flower. “I do these four stitches here in this square pattern, and then I just—” she gives the thread a long pull, drawing the fabric at the corners of the square inwards— “pull.”

“Woah,” Adrien says, his eyes widening slightly. “That’s pretty cool.”

“I know, right?” Marinette says. “Then you just thread through the middle to hold it together,” and she does just that, pushing the needle through the many layers of fabric, “and string on a bead,” she does this and then loops the needle around once more to secure it in place, tying the thread off and cutting the excess. “And voila! It’s a flower!”

“That actually looks really good,” Adrien says. Marinette tilts the camera back up, centering her face on the tiny screen in the corner of the window showing what Adrien sees.

“And it’s pretty easy. It’s just one of those things you would never think of until someone points it out, you know?” She starts working on another flower, carefully locating the middle and marking certain points with her disappearing ink pen. “The hardest part is figuring out where to stitch the square so that the flower pulls together the right way and lines up with all the others.” She finishes measuring out the spots and then picks up her needle again. “But I’m getting the hang of it.”

“Did you finish that other project you were working on?” he asks.

“You mean the raincoat for Mireille?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“I finished it last night,” she says. “You wanna see it?”

“Of course!”

“Alright. Hang on a second.”

Marinette hops up and runs over to Mireille’s room, gently knocking on the door before peeking inside. Her roommate is sitting on her bed watching something on her computer. She looks up from her computer when the door opens, looking at Marinette over the top of the screen.

“Hey. What’s up?” she asks.

“Can I borrow the rain jacket really fast? Adrien wants to see it,” Marinette asks.

“Yeah, go ahead. It’s in my closet.” Marinette spots the light blue nylon fabric immediately, grabbing the jacket and giving her thanks as she hurries back out the door and to her room. When she plops back down in front of the web cam, Adrien is looking at something on his phone. He glances up with a slight smirk.

“That was fast,” he comments. “I only got through one page of Facebook.”

“So call me Speedy,” she quips, holding up the jacket in front of the camera. “Ta-dah!”

“Wow!” he exclaims, instantly moving closer to the camera to look at the computer screen. “Marinette, this is amazing! You made that from scratch?”

“Yep,” she beams. “Only bought the fabric, thread, and zipper.”

“Are those little rain clouds stitched on the pocket?”

“Yeah. And there are little suns lining the collar, which hides a zipper to attach the hood if she wants. I figured she would like the designs, you know, since she’s going to be a meteorologist and all. The fabric was a little difficult to work with, but Mr. Agreste walked me through it and gave me some pointers on how to make it more water-proof. It turned out pretty well, I think.”

“That’s amazing,” he shakes his head, grinning as he slumps back into his seat. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Very carefully,” she deadpans, setting the jacket off to the side and going back to her needlework on the soon-to-be purse.

“Har-dee-har-har,” he teases. “Looks like I’m dating a comedian.”

“Hey! You’re the one that assaults me with those horrible cat puns on a daily basis.”

“You can’t deny that they are _paw_ -sitively _hiss_ -terical.” Marinette groans, dropping her work to put her face in her hands.

“ _Two?_ ”

“We didn’t get a chance to talk last night, so I’m making up for lost time.”

“That was a whole five seconds of my life that I am never going to get back.”

“Aww. You love me Bugaboo.”

“Not if you keep making shitty jokes like that,” she says, but she’s still smiling, completely invalidating the claim, she knows. She picks up the needle and goes back to work.

“Meow-ch!”

“Agreste, I swear to _God_ — _”_

“Oh! Do you want to hear the theater horror story of the day?” he asks, suddenly mildly excited. Marinette sighs.

“Go ahead.”

“So you remember Barbara, right?” he asks.

“Barbara the regular who always gets a small popcorn and two free water cups filled with ‘white water’ and then complains that the movie is too loud?”

“That’s the one.”

“Did she come by again?”

“Yep, but this time, we were ready for her.”

“Oh?”

“So, the moment she bought a ticket, I went upstairs to the theater she would be in and turned the volume up louder, that way when she inevitably complained, I would be able to turn it down to a normal volume. And she never noticed it was at the normal volume!”

Marinette takes a moment, waiting for him to go on. He doesn’t. He just keeps staring at her expectantly. Marinette raises an eyebrow.

“And that’s significant because…?”

“That means that it isn’t _really_ too loud for her. She’s just complaining to complain.”

“I could have told you that months ago,” Marinette says, eyebrow still raised. “We all know that even if the water comes out red because it shares a nozzle with the fruit punch, you can’t taste the difference. She just wanted her ‘white water’ so that she’d be a hassle. We even asked her if she would rather us get it from a different source if there was something in the fruit punch that she couldn’t drink, and she said that she just doesn’t like the flavor. It’s not new information that she just likes to cause unnecessary problems.”

“Well, I didn’t know that,” he fake-pouts, crossing his arms in front of his chest and puckering his lip. “Why couldn’t you just let me be happy and think I discovered something?” Marinette immediately slaps on an overly-cheery face, eyes wide and mouth gaping.

“Oh my gosh Adrien! You discovered that some old women will be unnecessarily needy for no other reason than to cause problems? That’s awesome! I totally didn’t know that! You should write a paper on it! You would win so many awards for this _ground-breaking_ discovery! Maybe even a Nobel Prize!”

“Okay okay, I get it!” he exclaims. “I’m an oblivious idiot! Moving on!”

“But Adrien! Your discovery has to be publicized! We need to get this information out there! This could completely change the way retail is run on a daily basis! People have a right to know! You can’t just keep this game-changing knowledge to yourself!”

“You’re never going to let this go, are you?” he sighs.

“Are you ever going to let go of that time I knocked over that cup of vomit someone left under their seat and then made you come clean it up?”

“Nope.”

“Then I guess you have your answer.”

“Ughhhhh Mari,” he groans, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.

“Ughhhhh Adrien,” she mimics, flashing a shit-eating grin at his nonplussed frown. She finishes the last flower on the purse-to-be and holds it up to inspect it. She managed to get all of the flowers perfectly lined up, thank God. But this is just the first side. She has an entire other side to do, then she has to stiffen the fabric so that the design will hold together properly, and she has to get the clips and structure of the purse made. She glances at the clock.

“Shit, it’s already one in the morning,” she says, frowning. “I have an 8 am tomorrow.”

“You should probably go to bed, then,” Adrien says, stretching his arms back in a yawn. “Me too. I have work in the morning.”

“Yeah, I guess that would be a good idea,” Marinette says, part of her wanting to keep working, part of her knowing she’ll die tomorrow if she doesn’t get her sleep. The responsible side of her wins out (knowing that if she decided to stay up, Adrien would probably stay up too, and there’s no point in putting him through that). So, she packs all her sewing tools away, carefully storing the patterned pink fabric in a drawer for revisiting later. Before she closes the drawer, her eyes catch on the red fabric of her big project, the one she’s been planning and perfecting for a while now. It’s almost done, and that thought makes her grin.

“What are you so happy about?” Adrien asks, and she shuts the drawer quickly.

“Nothing important,” she says, maybe a little too quickly. Adrien seems to catch on, one side of his lip twitching up.

“Is it about that secret project that you won’t tell me about?” he asks. _How the hell…_

“Maybe,” she says cryptically. He laughs.

“Won’t you at least give me a hint?”

“And ruin the surprise? How about no.”

“Boo. No fun.”

“I’m a designer. We’re not supposed to be _fun_ ,” she chuckles, picking up her laptop, camera and all, and carrying it over to her bed. She’s already in her pajamas and has already brushed her teeth and everything, ready to go to sleep. She’s more comfortable working that way, and like this she doesn’t have to make Adrien wait for her to get ready for bed. She turns off her lights and plops down on her mattress, setting her laptop next to her and turning the brightness down low. Adrien must be on his way to his bed, because she currently has a view of his chest ( _damn that boy for sleeping without a shirt on… damn him_ ) through a shaky camera. Then the screen goes dark, followed by the sound of mattress springs creaking moments later, and then his face comes into view as he lays down, his features just barely illuminated by the laptop brightness.

“Well, for the record, I think you’re a lot of fun when you’re not keeping secrets from me,” he says, smiling softly.

“Not a secret,” she corrects him. “A surprise.”

“Same difference,” he says. “Doesn’t make me any less curious.”

“Good _night_ , Adrien.”

“Come on. One little hint wouldn’t hurt.”

“You know, curiosity killed the cat.”

“And satisfaction brought it back,” Adrien retorts.

“Touché. I’m still not telling you though.”

“Come _on_. I’ll stop the cat puns if you tell me.”

“Adrien, we both know that won’t happen,” she says.

“You’re right. It was worth a shot though, purr-incess.” Marinette groans.

“Oh God, I’m going to sleep. Good night.” He just laughs, soft and breathy. It’s a nice sound, one that makes Marinette wish she could lean over and kiss him right now. But, she has settle for taking one last look at the screen, pretending it was him next to her instead of just her laptop, before closing her eyes.

“Good night, My Lady.”

It’s their little routine, but it’s one that Marinette treasures, knowing that, for now, it’s the closest she can get to falling asleep beside him. And for now, that’s enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *throws chapter and runs* I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I DIDN'T EXPECT LIFE TO GET SO HECTIC ON ME ALL OF A SUDDEN BUT IT DID PLEASE FORGIVE ME (but don't forgive my college professors, for they deserve your annoyance...)
> 
> Theater stories in this one:  
> Barbara is a real person (though Barbara wasn't her name... duh) and she was infamous at my theater... So, when someone wants a free water (in a little cup), the water dispenses out of the same dispenser as the fruit punch, so the water would sometimes have the slightest red tinge from the fruit punch line running clean. But, you literally couldn't taste it at all (trust me, I would refill my water bottle from it all the time). And, if you want the water to run clear, you literally have to stand there and hold the stupid button for more than a minute, which is just a hassle. But you know what, whatever, some people don't like the tint. What made Barbara so "special" was the fact that she would request her "white water" in the snottiest way that literally shook me the first time I encountered her. And then she would request the sound volume in her theater be turned down EVERY TIME SHE CAME IN which was at least weekly... It's not even that the request is so ridiculous... It's just the fact that she does it EVERY TIME without fail that makes it so painfully obvious that she's just complaining... Idk... She's just one of those regulars that is genuinely annoying...  
> Also, the vomit in a cup thing was true... I was sweeping under the seats and knocked something over on accident... It was, in fact, a cup of vomit. I don't know why it was there or who left it, but all I know was that it reeked and someone had to come mop it up... Yeah... People are gross...
> 
> So much FLUFF! Also, shout-out to Fae_Lalune for giving me the idea of these two falling asleep on Skype every night... It is literally the most adorable thing I have ever heard, and I told you I would steal it! :D
> 
> Also, Gabriel makes an appearance! (Though not related to Adrien in any way...) I just sorta wanted to give Marinette a mentor, and Gabriel fit the bill.
> 
> Also, the flower pattern that I was talking about Marinette doing is this: http://justimagine-ddoc.com/crafts/crafty-finds-for-your-inspiration-no-5/?pid=12318 I found it when I was researching and thought it was really cute...
> 
> Well, one more chapter to go. I'm not making any promises about when it will come out though... I have finals coming up, and life is just crazy in general, but I will get it up as soon as I can!
> 
> As always, let me know what you guy think, and I'll try to respond to you all when I can!


	10. Chapter 10

“You’re sure he’s working today?”

“Pretty sure, yeah.”

“Alya! This is serious! I’m only ten minutes away!”

“Mari, I literally watched him clock in an hour ago. Trust me, he’s here.”

“And you’re sure it’ll be okay if I steal him for the rest of the night?”

“It’s a Tuesday night at the beginning of summer. It’s a ghost town in here. Stop freaking out.”

“Sorry. I’m just… really nervous. I haven’t been home in months, you know? And now I got out of school a week early because I didn’t have to take one of my exams, and I’ve never done something like this, so I don’t know how he’s going to take the surprise, like what if he’s upset that I didn’t tell him or—”

“Marinette. Please, for the love of God, calm down for a second. This is Adrien we’re talking about. That boy hasn’t _stopped_ talking about you since you left last summer. We both know that the second you walk in that door and he sees you, you’ll both be running towards each other like in those sappy romance movies, and he’s gonna be the happiest guy on this planet.”

“We’re not _that_ sappy…”

“Yes you are. Trust me on this, okay? Calm down.”

“But—”

“Nope. Save it. I’m gonna go deal with Barbara. Nino’s sitting at guest services, so when you get here, he’ll radio in and tell Adrien that concession needs to be swept up. That way you don’t have to go hunting for him. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Sweet. I have to go. See you in a bit.”

“Oh, Alya!”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“I expect one of those handmade purses as payment.”

“Consider it done.”

* * *

 

Marinette flattens the skirt of her dress one more time, palms pressing out wrinkles in the red linen fabric that aren’t there, fingers brushing across the black hand embroidery. She’s leaning back against the guest services desk, trying to look as casual as possible, but inside she’s panicking. She knows it’s ridiculous, is perfectly aware that this is the boy she talked with and fell asleep with almost every night for the past year. But that doesn’t stop her heart from pounding against her ribcage at the thought of seeing him again for the first time in months. It’s this confusing combination of nerves and excitement and relief all at the same time that makes her head spin and her stomach feel like it’s jam-packed with butterflies. Tons and tons of butterflies…

“He’s coming out in a minute,” Nino says from behind her.

“Thanks,” she says, but it comes out as more of a squeak than anything, and the look she gives him next must be enough to convey her panic because the next thing she knows, his hand is on her shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“It’s fine, Marinette,” he says. “Adrien is going to flip when he sees you. I promise, he’s gonna be so happy. Dude has been looking forward to next week for over a month now. Him finding out you came home early is gonna make his night. And you look great. Just relax. Breathe a little.” She takes a deep breath in and then lets it out, trying to will the tension out of her shoulders. She knows Nino’s right; she needs to relax. There’s nothing to worry about. Alya told her the same thing in the car. She has no reason to be freaking out right now.

“Thanks Nino,” she smiles at him. He returns the gesture, giving her shoulder one more squeeze before letting go of her.

“Also, Alya told me to tell you to chill the fuck out and that she wants her purse in tangerine with white accents.” Marinette laughs.

“Of course she—”

“I don’t know why people insist on picking off their cheap, fake nails in the theater and leaving them on the chairs. I swear, it’s so gro—”

And just like that, Marinette’s heart goes from beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings to absolutely still, and everything around her seems to fall away, leaving her with nothing to do but turn around.

She can see the shock on his face from all the way across the atrium. She sees it in the way his lips form a very soft “o”, the way his shoulders drop, the way his eyebrows arch almost high enough to seem as if they plan to hide inside his hair, the way his impossibly green eyes widen. She’s not ready. She’s definitely not ready. She’s not ready for that shock to suddenly shift to pure joy as he takes a step towards her, broom and dustpan forgotten on the ground (if the noise drew attention, she has no idea because all she sees is _him_ , _Adrien_ , here in front of her, only a few meters away). She’s not ready for the sudden, overwhelming need to touch him, to taste that smile and tangle her fingers in that golden blond hair and make sure his skin feels as soft as she remembers.

It’s as if every bit of panic she’s felt all day just melts away, and all that’s left is a single thought:

_God, I missed you._

It’s the longest yet shortest three seconds of her life, that time it takes her feet to carry her across the theater hall faster than she’s ever run before, him meeting her halfway.

And then his arms are around her, and the world seems to click back in place, as if it had been slightly off the whole time and now it’s fine again, everything’s _whole_ again.

She’s laughing when he lifts her up in the air, twirling her around with the biggest, sappiest grin on his face that she’s ever seen, his eyes sparkling, dancing, completely fixed on her and her alone as he spins her. And when he sets her back down, her feet barely touch the ground for a second before she’s leaning in, grabbing his shirt and pulling him down towards her, and she kisses him. She kisses him like it’s the first time and the last time, and she pours everything into it. Every lonely, wanting moment over the past months, every feeling of panic leading up to this, every ounce of desire and fear and relief, everything. And he gives it all right back, his lips desperate against hers, as if he expects her to disappear right from his arms. But she’s not going anywhere. Not for a while, anyways. For now, she’s his, and he’s hers, and everything is _perfect_. Absolutely perfect.

She pulls away, breath ragged, unable to stop herself from smiling, his shirt still firmly bunched in her hand. Her eyes open, and immediately she’s struck by the way he’s looking at her, like she’s his whole world, like she’s rain in a dry desert or a glimpse of the sun on a cloudy day. It almost makes her dizzy. Words completely fail her, and all she wants to do is lean in a kiss him again, to drag him home so she can remind herself what it’s really like to sleep next to him instead of that damn laptop. God, she wants to tell him that she loves him, and that she missed him, and that she’s been waiting for this moment for months.

“Hi,” she says instead, still close enough to catch the slight scent of popcorn clinging to his clothes. It’s almost comforting in such a strange way.

“Hi,” he says back, and yeah, his voice sounds a million times better in person than it does through that crappy microphone. _Why did I have to go to China over winter break? Why couldn’t I just come home instead?_

“Hi,” she repeats, making him snort, and she giggles in response.

“Hi,” he laughs, and she would’ve kept it going if not for—

“Hi.”

Marinette instantly lets go of his shirt and turns to see Chloe standing behind them, her arms crossed over her chest and an inquisitive eyebrow raised. Adrien straightens up and pulls at his shirt, trying to smooth out the wrinkles that she made. _Whoops._

“Hi Chloe,” Marinette manages, her cheeks warm.

“Any reason you two are making out in my atrium?” she asks. And yeah, Marinette has a feeling her face is going to be as red as her dress within a few moments. Adrien laughs, somewhat awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

“Yeah, sorry Chlo,” he says. “Might have gotten a little carried away.”

“I’d say,” Chloe glances around, and Marinette takes that moment to notice the few people standing around the room are trying to casually look in any other direction than at them. Marinette’s face is on fire, and one glance at Adrien shows the same splash of red across his cheeks. She feels like a child being scorned for reaching into the cookie jar. _Oh God, I hope I didn’t get Adrien in trouble._

“Look Chloe, I’m really sorry,” Marinette says. “I decided to surprise him, so don’t take it out on him—”

“Oh no, I’m not mad,” Chloe assures her, much to Marinette’s relief. “You’re not currently an employee or anything, so it’s not like you’re really breaking any rules. Though, I would prefer if you kept the PDA to a minimum.” Though she didn’t think it was possible, Marinette feels her face get even warmer. “But at least I understand why Alya asked me to come in. I’m assuming you’re clocking out, right Agreste?”

“If I can, yeah,” he stumbles. “Yeah, that would be my preference.”

“Alright, but you owe me,” she says to him. “And you.” She turns to Marinette. “I want my purse in yellow and black.” It takes Marinette a full second to understand what she means, but then it clicks, and she remembers her deal with Alya. _That fox is pawning off my skills…_

“I’ll get it to you as soon as I can” she sighs, knowing she’s going to have a busy couple of weeks now that she has two purses to make along with Adrien’s one-year anniversary gift. _At least I’m on break._

“Perfect,” Chloe claps her hands together. “In that case, I’ll clock you out, Adrikins. And Marinette, I absolutely love your dress.”

“Oh thanks!” she says, fanning the skirt out a little, more than happy to change the topic of the conversation. Adrien seems to notice the dress for the first time as well, glancing at it from her side with interest. “I made it completely by hand.” She is honestly extremely happy with how the dress turned out. The red linen of the lower bodice and skirt is soft and comes in at the waist before draping over her legs and stopping just below her knees. The top portion of the bodice is a sheer black material (Mr. Agreste had called it a yoke bodice when she had described the idea to him) that reaches up to just above her clavicles, ending in a red collar around the base of her neck as well as cap sleeves just below her shoulders. The skirt itself is pleated, and she recalls the hours spent making sure every fold turned out perfect. However, the real highlight of the dress, she feels, is the black embroidery reaching up from the bottom of the skirt and decorating the bodice. She spent weeks just sketching the designs out, tweaking and refining and scrapping ideas until she found something she loved. Black vines reach up from the bottom hem (and down from the neckline), stretching and twisting to end at varying heights on the skirt, small black flowers dotting the branches like spots. She had spent months on the hand embroidery, making each stitch carefully and always planning multiple steps ahead. She’s sure that, if it had been her only project, she could have gotten the dress done in a third of the time. But, considering she managed to finish it between school projects and commissions, she’s happy she got it done before her personal deadline.

There’s a beat during which both Adrien and Chloe examine the dress, Chloe’s lips pulling into an impressed smile, Adrien’s eyes getting larger the longer he looks, taking in more details. Then, Chloe opens her mouth to speak, but Adrien beats her to it.

“You made that?” Adrien exclaims, completely drowning out Chloe’s praise. “And I’m just now hearing about it?”

“Surprise?” Marinette says with a small smile. “I was gonna show you on our anniversary, but then I finally finished the embroidery that took me almost all semester to get right, and I was really excited about it. So I thought, why not?”

“This is the secret project you wouldn’t tell me about?” he asks, eyes wide as saucers as he looks over the dress again. “It’s beautiful Marinette! Holy cow!” His eyebrows scrunch as he considers something. “Our anniversary…” he trails off, head cocking to the side slightly. Then his eyes brighten, and he looks back up at her. “It’s Ladybug!” he exclaims.

“You got me,” Marinette laughs.

“I’m missing something,” Chloe comments.

“It’s the movie we saw on our first date,” he tells her. “Does this mean I’m getting something Chat Noir-related for our anniversary?” he asks Marinette, giddy.

“Maybe,” she says, the almost-done black and green scarf coming to mind. “But you’ll have to be a good kitty if you want to see.”

“My Lady, for you, I will be purr-fectly well-behaved.”

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Chloe grimaces and turns, making Adrien chuckle as she quickly heads in the direction of the back room. “Make sure you tell her about the new theater, Agreste. There’s no point in waiting when I guarantee it’s going to happen,” she calls over her shoulder. Before she disappears into the room, she turns around and sends them off with, “I expect my purse in two weeks,” before letting the door close.

“New theater?” Marinette asks, turning to face him again, her eyebrows scrunching together in confusion. “What’s she talking about?”

“Yeah, about that,” he says, folding his arms across his chest. “I may be to moving to another theater that just got built.” Marinette feels her entire body run cold. _He’s leaving?_

“Oh,” she says, not sure how to react to this. “When did you find out?”

“Chloe told me a month ago that they were looking for a general manager for the new location,” he says, his eyes downcast. _Why won’t he look at me?_

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks, a little hurt that he kept this from her.

“It wasn’t a sure thing,” he says. “I honestly didn’t think I had a shot at the position. But now, Chloe’s telling me that the job is as good as mine, and I’ll probably be moving in a month or so.”

“That’s great!” _He’s not going to be here the entire summer, then._ “Wow. General manager. Adrien, that’s amazing.” _He’s going to leave before I do._ “How far away is it?” _I can probably go visit him. It’s probably not too—_

“Three hours,” he says. _Oh._

“Oh.” It’s all she can manage. That’s one hell of a shock. She hadn’t been expecting this in the slightest. _I’m only going to get a month or two with him, then it’s back to video-chat._ “Oh.” She looks down at the ground, studying the carpet, trying not to let this get to her. She knows she should just be happy for him, not feeling crappy about herself! And she _is_ happy for him! This is what he wants, right? And it’s not like he’s leaving tomorrow! She still has a month or more with him.

_Remember how quickly last summer went by?_

_This one will be even quicker._

_Make memories while you can, because now he’s going to be even farther away._

“Hey,” he says, and then he gently touches her chin and tilts her head up to look at him. He’s smiling, not as brightly as he was earlier, but definitely not with the same sad quirk she’s sure the smile she just painted on has. “Aren’t you going to ask where the new theater is?” A small glint in his eye coupled with something about the odd quirk to his lips faintly reminds her of last summer, when he would smirk at her the moment before he started tickling her or said something… unwholesome. It feels out of place, given the current conversation.

“Where is it?” she asks, a bit thrown off by his expression.

“Well,” he starts, giving her a knowing look, “it’s in this nice little town about two-hundred miles away. I’ve been up there once or twice. It’s a pretty nice city.” _Where is he going with this?_ “There’s only one other theater in the area, which is nice. But, you see, there’s a university there,” _wait,_ “so there definitely is a need for another theater. And when I heard about the position,” _he can’t be serious_ “I figured I’d have to try, because how cool would it be to live in the same city,” _no freaking way_ “as my girlfriend.”

She’s speechless. Absolutely speechless. If someone asked her what her name was right now, she’s not sure she could answer because the only thing bouncing around her brain is “ _same city as my girlfriend, same city as my girlfriend, same city as my girlfriend_ ”.

“So, what do you think?” he smirks, his fingers still lightly touching her chin, keeping her eyes locked on his.

_What do I think? What do I think!_

“I think,” she says, eyes narrowing. “I think I’m going to kick your ass for not leading with that!” She shoves him, fuming, making him stumble back. Oh, is she mad. “Of all the cruel… You had me freaked out! I thought you were going to be moving farther away!” He just laughs, doubled over, and now her face is red for a completely different reason than it was a few minutes ago. She stomps back up to him. “This isn’t funny!” He straightens back up, his cheeks tinged red, still fighting off his giggles, but she’s not done with him. “I was seriously worried! Tha—”

Whatever she was going to say is cut off when, in one fluid motion, he cups her cheek, leans down, and presses his lips to hers, effectively stopping her rant mid-syllable. It’s a soft, chaste thing, nothing compared to their kiss earlier. But even through her indignant anger, she finds herself melting into it, into _him_ , resenting that he knows exactly how to calm her down. She blames the fact that she’s been craving this for months now. In reality, she knows she could never stay mad at him for long, especially not when his little trick delivered some of the best news she’s heard all year. _The same city. The same city. I can see him whenever I want._ He pulls back, smiling softly, still caressing her cheek. _I never did find a fabric that rivalled that green of his eyes._

“You’re not off the hook that easily,” she says, though there’s not an ounce of anger in the statement.

“Temporary solution,” he jokes, but he immediately sobers. “Really, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you that much. I just _had_ to get back at you for both of your little surprises today.” His thumb tenderly brushes against her cheek, and she hums, leaning into it, closing her eyes, letting herself just enjoy his touch. “Let me make it up to you.”

“Let me guess,” she says, eyes still closed and content. “I can pay for dinner, and you’ll pay for the movie?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of you moving in with me when you get back in school,” he says. For the hundredth time tonight, Marinette freezes, and everything suddenly seems to grind to a halt. Her eyes snap open, immediately meeting his as her heart slams away in her chest like a cannon. He’s smiling, and if she didn’t know him better, she would swear he was completely calm and relaxed right now. But she knows him, knows that slight crinkle in his forehead, that faintest hint of tightness in his lips, that barest trace of fear in his eyes. He’s nervous, and all she can think about is the fact that she could wake up next to him every morning if she wanted. She could make breakfast with him in the morning and lie on the couch with him watching television every night. She could fall asleep to the gentle rise and fall of his chest, his arms wrapped around her, holding her close. She could run her fingers through his golden hair any time she wanted. She could pack away that damn web cam.

“I get if it’s too sudden,” he starts to say, his eyes darting to the side. She took too long to answer, and she could smack herself for it. “You have time to think on it, and I get if you’re not ready for th—”

Now it’s her turn to shut him up. She presses herself up onto her tiptoes and kisses him, her lips drawing him back to her instead of wherever his mind was sinking to. It only lasts a moment (though it’s still enough to make her lips tingle), and when she pulls away, meeting his gaze and seeing that mix of uncertainty and hope, she smiles.

“I might say yes if you’re willing to lay off the cat puns,” she says playfully. His entire expression shifts, and the smile that stretches across his lips is radiant enough to rival the sun itself.

“For you, My Lady, anything,” he purrs, leaning down to nuzzle her forehead. “Though you ask so much of me.” She hums, pushing back against him, finding his hands and tangling their fingers together.

“Then, how about I get a foot rub once a week instead,” she offers. “How does that sound?”

“You have a deal,” he says, and she doesn’t even have to look to know that he’s smiling. She can just hear it in his voice, in the content sigh he breathes out when she leans up and kisses him again, in the curve of his lips as he kisses her back, the motion slow and languid. It’s easy, how comfortable she is with him, how perfectly they fit and move together, always in sync, matching each other’s movements without a second thought.

_It’s perfect._

“Get a room you two!” Nino calls from somewhere off to the side. Marinette hears him, but she couldn’t care less, perfectly willing to keep kissing the man she loves. But Adrien pulls back (much to her protest) and, after a moment taken to catch his breath, he looks towards the guest services desk.

“Don’t you have a bathroom to go clean, Lahiffe?”

“Man, don’t remind me.”

Marinette can’t help but laugh, and she keeps giggling even as Adrien, with that goofy smile of his, pulls her towards the theater exit doors and out into the light of the setting sun.

In that moment, she can honestly say that she’s never been happier, and she’ll keep saying it as long as he’s by her side.

Years later, she’ll say it when he gets down on one knee, she’ll say it when he says, “I do”, she’ll say it when she holds their baby girl for the first time, she’ll say it over and over and over again.

And she’ll mean it every time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tah dah! Look at that! I am actually capable of finishing a fic! Hooray! *throws streamers and confetti*
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this fic! I had a lot of fun writing it (even if it meant reliving some of those horror stories... BTW I wasn't kidding about people peeling off their fake nails and leaving them on the seats... That was a common thing...)!
> 
> To those of you that have been reading since I first started this as a one-shot and stuck with me, thank you, and bless your little hearts! To those of you who may not have been here since day one, but have read through this whole thing, thank you, and I hope you enjoyed (and bless your little hearts too!). I really appreciate everyone's support through this whole thing and I thank you for making this whole experience all the better.
> 
> I'm nowhere near done writing for this fandom. I have a few ideas in the works (maybe a Heathers AU... I'm still fleshing it out... Mwahaha), so stay tuned if you wanna see more. Otherwise, come follow me on [Tumblr](https://miraculouskittynoir.tumblr.com/) for more Miraculous content (I reblog a LOT of stuff).
> 
> Love you all, and thanks for reading!
> 
> Side Note:  
> [Basic Dress Shape for Mari's Design](http://daisysandoval.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/YokeS.jpg)  
> [Basic Vine Design (though less compacted)](http://www.clipartbest.com/cliparts/4i9/6q8/4i96q8pGT.jpg)


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